


Love and Disgrace (At Grimmauld Place)

by mee4ever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adopted Children, Arguing, Bigotry & Prejudice, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Kid Fic, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Harry Potter, Post-Deathly Hallows, Single Parent Harry Potter, Slow Romance, Social Commentary, what even are tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 00:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14705516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: “Teddy goes before anything in my life,” Harry says. “If by any reason you two don’t get along, I will choose him. You understand?”Malfoy gives him a grimace acting like a smile. “Perfectly.”Or the one where Harry and Teddy’s lives change forever because Draco happens to be a Black and in need of a place to stay.





	Love and Disgrace (At Grimmauld Place)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another kid!fic!!! IHHH  
> (someone pls tell me if the rating should be different, I have no idea if this classifies as mature or not)  
> There's a lot of social commentary in this fic, mostly revolving around muggles and race, and I have no idea how to tag that but yeah it's there. 
> 
> AND U GUYS, I had TWO betas!!! Big shout out to [lunarfay ](http://lunarfay.tumblr.com/)and [randoyoyo](http://randoyoyo.tumblr.com) for helping me out! Any and all mistakes left are entirely my own.

Harry teaches both himself and four-year-old Teddy how to make carrot burfi via an Indian cookbook. He picked it up in a second-hand bookstore last week and has decided to make everything in it to try to connect with his roots. So far, it’s been mostly been a fight with the peeler, and Teddy running around while eating the carrots as Harry is done with them. Finally, Harry gets out a food box from the fridge for him, laughing that if Teddy wants sweets he can’t just keep eating what they’re making sweets out of.

It’s then that Harry hears the unquestionable sound of a key entering a lock coming from the hallway. Harry looks up and feels suddenly uneasy. He hasn’t given anyone a key. Not even Ron and Hermione have one, so whoever is coming must’ve already had one from before. It can’t be a good sign, Harry thinks as he asks Teddy to stay at the table and gets up, drying his hands on his apron and grabbing his wand. He makes his way into the hallway, wand raised. The door is indeed slung open, on the way of being closed again behind a huddled figure, a mop of blond hair peeking out over a giant scarf and dark winter robes. Draco Malfoy stands in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place’s—Harry’s—front door after letting himself in. He dusts his gloves off, powdered with snow, as the rest of him is, and then turns towards Harry.

Harry, with flour on his face, lowers his wand and doesn’t know what to say, so he only states, “You have keys.”

With a tired sigh, Malfoy gives no other explanation than, “I am a Black after all.”

It’s weird seeing him after so long. The closest Harry has gotten to his face in the last four years has been when it has avoided the camera in the _Daily Prophet._ He looks better in real life. Looking more like a man than a boy, shoulders set but tired eyes. He shaves now. He’s still pointy, still skinny, and Harry must wonder what he has done with his time since they last saw each other. “What are you doing here?”

Malfoy opens his scarf and takes it off, folds it in his hands. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I live here. I own the place.”

Malfoy manages to look offended, slim fingers tightening around the fabric. “No,” he says. “No, you don’t. My mother’s family, and I, own this house.” Harry thought he at least would have some sense of courtesy, but it seems his white boy brattiness is not something he has grown out of.

“Sirius left it to me.” Over a half decade later, it still hurts to say his name, to be reminded of his death. One death also reminds Harry of so many more.

Malfoy sneers. “It wasn’t his to give away.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks again, as it is a more pressing question than who owns the place.

Malfoy shuffles his feet for a bit, before admitting, “I need a place to stay.”

Harry doesn’t have time to tell him that he can’t stay here, that he has to find someplace else before Teddy trots in. His blue hair tousled, a small pout on his lips, and he reaches just above Harry’s hip when he pulls at Harry’s apron.

“Hey, little guy,” Harry says and picks him up, anchoring him on his hip, and Teddy fists a hand in the front of Harry’s shirt. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in the kitchen?”

Teddy shrugs. “Boring.” He looks Malfoy up and down, a curious look. “Who’s that?”

Harry turns his gaze towards Malfoy again and chooses his words carefully. “This is… Draco, Teddy. He’s... your cousin.” It feels strange to use his first name, worse to realise that the two really are related, if maybe not so closely.

Teddy frowns and nibs on a carrot he has apparently brought. “What’s a cousin?” he asks between a half-chewed bite.

Harry would’ve rather not had this conversation now, but he indulges because he can’t stop himself. “He’s a part of your extended family.”

“Family?” He looks back at Harry. “Like you, Daddy?”

Harry winces and flushes bright red; that was _not_ how he had meant it. But Teddy doesn’t know a lot about the war, about parents and family, and that’s definitely not a conversation he wants right now. “Er, in a way, yes.” He looks up at Malfoy, a neutral look on his face as he watches Harry and Teddy interact. Harry hesitates a second before taking a couple steps forward and asking Teddy, “Do you want to say hi?”

Teddy cocks his head and waves his carrot. “Hi, Mr. Dwaco.”

Malfoy's face splits into a quiet smile that startles Harry into staring at him. “Hello there, Teddy,” he says, waving slightly. “How’re you doing?”

“Good. Having a snack.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Carrots, huh?”

“Yep.” Teddy twists in Harry’s arms, and it’s not before Malfoy throws Harry a glance, still smiling, that Harry can look away and realise Teddy’s trying to wring out of his grip. “Daddy, let me down.”

“Okay, buddy, here we go.” He watches as Teddy skips off. “No more carrots; finish your meal!”

“Does he know you’re not his real father?” Harry snaps his attention back to Malfoy; his face now looks like he’s judging everything from the socks on Harry’s feet to the colour of Teddy’s hair. Harry won’t have it. He takes the last few steps up to Malfoy, points a finger in his face and says with furious precision:

“In every shape and form except biological, I _am_ that boy’s father. I’ve taken care of him for four years, he’s my entire life, and _you_ do not get to come here and try to tell me otherwise.”

Malfoy has the audacity to look bored. He sniffs, his nose pink this close, and it seems he doesn’t care enough to comment further. “He seems opinionated,” he says instead.

Harry takes a breath and doesn’t back down. “I guess it runs in the family.” Malfoy narrows his eyes, and now Harry ignores him. “Like metamorphosis.”

“His hair isn’t always blue, then?” Malfoy looks revealed.

“Only when he’s awake,” Harry says. “Are you staying?”

The question seems to take Malfoy aback. “You’re not kicking me out?”

Harry doesn’t want to argue. They’re not exactly friends, and Harry and Teddy have it good here by themselves, but it would be… _nice_ with a bit of change. Even if it’s Malfoy. Somehow, it doesn’t seem so far off. Spice up life with another person acting like a four-year-old. “Technically”—Harry shrugs—”it’s your house.”

Malfoy stands there for a long minute just looking at Harry. For humour or insincerity, but Harry doesn't let him find any. In the end, Malfoy toes off his shoes and nods stiffly. “I guess I am.”

Harry nods too. “Teddy goes before anything in my life. If by any reason you two don’t get along, I will choose him. You understand?”

Malfoy gives him a grimace acting like a smile. “Perfectly,” he says. Harry gives him a look and wonders what the hell he has dragged himself into.

~~

For being nemeses for seven years, fought a war on different sides, and having a general dislike towards each other, Harry and Malfoy manage the first two days easily. Malfoy avoids Harry and Teddy like the plague, only ever enters rooms when they have left them, and never joins them for meals. Harry doesn’t mind. It’s enough to know that he’s there without having to try living around him. It’s not like he’d _expected_ Malfoy to suddenly join their routine, anyway. He has occupied a room upstairs, in the same corridor as Harry’s and Teddy’s, but they have never once accidentally bumped into each other so far.

By the third day, Harry has gone from a quiet want to banter a little to a full-blown _need_ to comment that Malfoy has an ugly mug. Neither is possible because he’s not seen Malfoy, and it’s not like he can actively seek him out just to tell him he’s not attractive.

In the end, Malfoy saves him by leaving his huddled-up hole by going to the kitchen. How he survived for three days without doing so Harry doesn't know, but he’s just lounging in the living room with Teddy when suddenly there’s a crash coming from out the hall.

“POTTER. Get in here!”

Teddy frowns at Harry. “What’s ‘Potter’?”

Harry smiles and says that it’s him, that _Draco_ has a way of using people’s last names instead of their first.

“Do I have a last name, too?”

“Yes,” Harry says, throat thick. “Yes, you do.”

“Sweet Merlin!” Teddy says and grabs his own forehead—a habit he’s clearly learned from Ron. “I had no idea!”

Harry laughs and pats his head. “The world is so big.” Then he makes way to the kitchen.

Malfoy stands with his hands on his hips in front of the kitchen benches with a broken plate by his feet, looking flustered and annoyed. A typical look that Harry has seen many times, but he’s never seen him in a _ponytail_ before.

“What you yelling for?” Harry asks to distract himself from the hair.

Malfoy points. “What. Is. This.”

“It’s a dishwasher.” Harry wants to laugh; Malfoy has clearly never seen one of those before, neither can he have realised just how many commodities Harry has installed around the house.

“A dish-”

“You know, for dirty dishes? It’s a muggle machine and it took some trickery to get it in here, but honestly, it’s much less exhausting to load this one than to clean them myself.” He takes a step forward and opens it up, showing half a load inside.

Malfoy scrunches his nose. “Why is there one of _those_ in this kitchen?”

Harry blinks. “I literally just told you. Funny, though, it took me months, like six full months, to learn enough about plumbing to install it. Dean helped me.”

“Dean?” Malfoy asks, his face not showing any recollection of a boy named that.

“Thomas? Dean Thomas? He was in Gryffindor our year, dark skin, great painter?” Harry waves his hand around above his head to indicate how freakishly tall he also is.

Malfoy waves at him instead and stomps the ground, looking terrifyingly like Teddy on a tantrum. “I don't _care_ , Potter, I care that you’re defiling a wizard’s family house with muggle semantics.”

Harry closes the door to the dishwasher, very calm and collected. If being a parent has only given him one thing, it’s patience. “I’m not ‘defiling’ anything, Malfoy. It’s kitchen equipment.” Just to screw with him, he adds, “I have a washing machine in the utility room as well.”

Malfoy looks just as unhappy about this as Harry had wished for. “Are you telling me there are _two_ of these?”

“No, this one’s for dishes, the other one is for laundry.”

“I cannot believe this.” Malfoy paces around, giving the dishwasher the stink eye just as much as he gives it to Harry.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, if you want to hand clean or use magic, you’re more than welcome to.”

Malfoy stops and puts his nose into the air. “You could’ve at least asked the family if this was okay.”

“Up until you arrived, Malfoy, there was no doubt in my mind I owned this place. As I see it, you can do anything you want with something you own.”

“But you don’t!” Malfoy yells, too loud and too childish for Harry to take him seriously.

“I realise that the matter is slightly more complicated, yes,” Harry says, “but I will not start sending owls to relatives of the Black family to get approval in any matter regarding this house.”

“You don’t need to owl; I live on the second floor, second door to the right.”

With a smile, Harry says, “Malfoy. Either you live with some everyday muggle items, which drastically improve your living standard, or you move out from the second door to the right and find your stay elsewhere.”

While staring at him, Malfoy seems to decide it’s better to stay. “It’s hideous,” he says like he needs to get the last word in.

“And look,” Harry says and pushes the power button, “it makes hideous sounds as well.” Malfoy’s eyes go wide and Harry, laughing, goes back to Teddy.

~~

After this, Malfoy loudly complains every time he finds something else that he’s never seen before. It’s all from muggle pens (which he quite literally thinks are the Devil’s make do, even when Harry points out that they’re just so much more convenient than quills) to the battery-driven nightlight Harry has put out in the corridor (which apparently is a fire hazard, and Malfoy makes it sound like a magical— _actual_ —fire _wouldn’t_ be). But for the most part, Harry doesn’t think much of it.

He can understand that Malfoy is unused to muggle things, that he has traditional values, and doesn’t like new things simply because he doesn't understand them, and he hates feeling stupid. Then Malfoy finds the muggle photograph on Teddy’s nightstand, and things change.

He has come looking for Harry—that’s a first—just so he can complain about yet another thing, but the photograph takes his entire fire away and he picks it up. “It’s like you’re raising him as a muggle, Potter!” He throws the frame back down on the bedside table like it has burned him.

And Harry has to stop and think about what it is that he’s actually saying. “What’s so wrong with that?” he asks, halfway through folding some of Teddy’s newly washed shirts.

Malfoy stares like he’s being stupid. “Because he’s obviously _not_ a muggle?”

“But there’s loads of magic in the house.” Harry indicates that he’s using magic at the exact moment to levitate the folded shirts. Even if, at the exact moment, Teddy isn’t there to see it (Ron babysits occasionally to give Harry a day off) Harry still thinks it counts. He would’ve done it if Teddy had been there too.

“Yes, and loads of muggle junk, too.”

“I was raised a muggle, Malfoy,” Harry says and puts down the shirts on a chair. “Of course, I’m going to mix it. Hell, if I had been raised in a half-Indian household, rather than by an exclusively white family, I’m sure I would’ve been raised with two different cultures too, and I could’ve way easier pass that down to him.”

Malfoy sneers, arms folded. “Muggles aren’t a ‘culture,’ Potter, they’re non-wizards. It’s an either-or situation.”

Harry looks around. “Obviously not. And I mean Hermione, for example, she was also raised a muggle, without magic in her family, and she obviously uses muggle things and is still a splendid witch.”

“Granger’s a mud-” Malfoy stops himself when Harry widens his eyes, he looks down and shuffles his feet. “I try not to use the… oh, you know the word, anymore, but anyway, she is a muggle-wit-”

Harry cuts him off. “They’re not ‘muggle-witches’, either, Malfoy. They’re witches and wizards, who happened to have muggle parents.”

“What are you supposed to call them, then?”

“Muggle-borns.”

“Right. Those. She’s one of those. But. Teddy is not; he’s a wizard.”

Harry shrugs. “All we really can say for certain about him is that he’s a metamorphmagus. He could be a wizard-born, for all we know.”

Malfoy looks like Harry has personally offended him. “A _squib_? Of course, he’s not-”

“For all we know, he could be a girl. Non-gender conforming. He could be gay. Asexual. A wizard, yes, but also a Harpies fan. Or, god forbid, a complete douchebag. My point is, he can be anything. Whatever he discovers or decides about himself, and I will give him a childhood that is as diverse as I, to my best abilities, can.”

Malfoy stares at Harry, and for a second Harry’s not so sure he understood any of the words in that sentence or how they play together.

The Dursleys had always tried to put their ridiculous values on Harry, but because they also hated him, Harry had never picked them up completely. Harry had never aligned with them, either. Of course, it had taken him a long time to realise that a fair amount of their hate towards him—and his father—came from clear-cut racism, and even longer to realise that was not how it was supposed to be. But the wizarding community had helped him through a lot of shit, as well had the British-Indian Society he’d found, and—once he realised exactly what the feeling in his gut when a handsome boy was kind to him was—the LGBT-community. Harry’s eyes have been opened and his mind expanded in the last few years. It seems Malfoy is still just a privileged white boy who only tries not to say the utmost offensive slurs. Which, granted, is better than not trying at all, but still, he has a long way to go. And with his attitude…

“You’re being ridiculous, Potter.”

“Am I?” Harry shoots back. “You’re the one blowing up over a couple muggle items while I’m folding laundry, but if you say so.” Harry holds his gaze steady, voice flat.

Malfoy licks his lips and shakes his head like it’s not possible to get through to Harry instead of the other way around. As he leaves, waving annoyedly at Harry, he mutters, “He couldn't be a _girl…”_ And Harry decides to keep a close eye on him around Teddy.

~~

It’s not as much Malfoy inserting himself into their lives, as it is Teddy dragging him into it. Once Teddy realises that Malfoy’s there to stay, he becomes positively excited and keeps insisting they ask _Draco_ to play with them. As it turns out, Malfoy isn’t a fragment as opinionated or stuck-up when Teddy is around. He smiles, and he talks, and he agrees when Teddy says outrageous things and encourages him in all he creates. He doesn’t voice any qualms he has about the way Harry raises Teddy so that Teddy can hear, he doesn’t verbally bash anything when they're in the same room, he doesn’t even give odd looks when Teddy talks about muggle related things. In Harry’s opinion, Malfoy could gladly act this way all the time and there would be no problems between them. That’s not true; they would still have many problems between them, but nothing current.

Malfoy joins them for dinner one night because Teddy asks. It’s not half as awkward as Harry had thought; Malfoy keeps talking to Teddy, who drags Harry into the discussion, and they politely engage. Malfoy looks to honestly enjoy himself. It is, however, weird as hell when Teddy leaves the table to draw with his crayons and Malfoy closes off like a mountain fell on his head. He never smiles when he’s alone around Harry, not even now, and it’s a bit creepy how easily Malfoy goes from peppy to almost cold in seconds.

The conversation dies out quickly, as Harry discovers that Malfoy isn’t as receptible to normal conversation unless Teddy is also in it. Malfoy pokes in the food he stuffed himself with only a second ago and Harry watches him in quiet bewilderment. He wants to ask if everything is alright, but it seems to be stepping over a few lines to do so, so he only pokes in his own stew. He realises that the only times that they interact is either when Teddy is involved, or Malfoy has something to complain about. They’ve never done this. Never really sat down, had a conversation, gotten to know each other outside if assumptions, rumours, and a war.

“Teddy seems to like you,” Harry says, just to say anything.

“Glad I’ll get to keep my room.”

Harry refrains from wincing when Malfoy doesn’t even _try_ to make this—whatever _this_ is—work on its own, but he wants to. Badly. He takes a sip of juice instead. “Do you see yourself having children of your own, someday?”

Finally, Malfoy looks up. “No,” he says, “never.” It’s a bit of a surprise, but that statement doesn’t sound half as strange as what follows. With a half-shrug, he says, “I despise children.”

Harry just stares at him for a while. “What?” he manages, and Malfoy raises a brow while finishing his glass of wine. Harry shakes his head and indicates towards where Teddy ran off. “But, you… with Teddy?”

Malfoy floors him by looking so utterly bored while he explains. “I’m trying to unlearn hate and bigoted behaviour, Potter, not teach it to the next generation.” Harry doesn’t know what to answer to that, so he stays quiet and watches as Teddy then skips in again and shows Malfoy his latest crayon creation.

“Dwaco, Dwaco, look! It’s me!”

Malfoy coos, compliments it, and his face has split into another bright smile. Harry has to wonder if all of them are fake.

~~

Teddy spills to the Granger-Weasley household that Malfoy’s huddled up with them. When Ron comes to leave Teddy with Harry again after sitting for the day, he gives Harry a _look_ and Harry just _knows_.

“I know,” he says before Ron has the chance, Teddy running between their legs.

“And yet, here we are.” Ron looks concerned.

“It really is fine. He’s great with Teddy.” It feels weird to open with that. It probably doesn’t help his explanation.

“That’s me!” Teddy screams and pumps his fists into the air.

Ron cocks his head but doesn’t say anything before Harry has gone through the nightly routine to get the energy monster into bed. Then, the two of them sit down in the living room with tea and Ron looks expectantly at Harry. Harry, who has no idea what to say, says nothing.

Ron sighs. “Alright, I’ll start. What is he doing here?”

Harry shrugs and picks at a fingernail. “Lives.”

“He _lives_ here?”

Harry casts him a glance. “What did you think?”

“That he _visits_.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” Ron sits back in the armchair, rubbing his temples.

“Could you ignore that I told you that he lives here?” Ron just snorts. “Okay,” Harry says, nodding. “Fair.”

“So, he lives here. What more?”

“He’s a racist git.”

“What else is new?”

“But he’s good- He's great with Teddy.”

“And Ted seems to like him. Calls him ‘Dwaco,’ though.” They look at each other for a second before bursting into laughter. “He must _hate_ it?” Ron asks through tears.

Harry shakes his head. “He hates a lot of things, very vocally, but nothing about Teddy. Not even complaining around him. He”—Harry clears his throat and says a bit less loudly—”smiles a lot around him.”

Ron doesn’t look to believe him. “Malfoy? Smiling?”

“Yeah, but I think he might be faking it.”

“Why would he?”

“I think he doesn’t want Teddy to grow up harshly. I think he just wants to make a positive impact in his life.”

“But?”

“To me, he’s like normal. Says the wrong things most of the time, hasn’t grown up, and he clearly still has some skewed muggle views.”

Ron narrows his eyes. “I sense another ‘but’ coming. I don’t like it, Harry.”

“It’s just that, sometimes, he really seems to be trying to better himself? He says ‘Muggle-borns’ now, stuff like that.”

“Wow. Way to go, doing the absolute bare minimum.”

They sit quietly for a bit, sipping tea. Harry understands where Ron is coming from, he really does, but there’s more to it. More to Malfoy, Harry believes. And they've gotten this far, _Malfoy_ has come this far, and that has to count for something, right?

“I think I could help him.”

Ron smiles at Harry like he’s stupid. “He’s not your responsibility, Harry. He shouldn’t even be here.” Ron sits up. “Right. Why is he, again?”

Harry honestly doesn’t know. “He needs a place to stay, and the house technically belongs to him.”

“I thought-”

Harry waves him off. “Yes, Sirius left it to me, but legally speaking, me and Malfoy probably own around the same percentage. I didn’t fight it; he had a key, knew where it was and everything.”

“So, you just decided to let him stay and now you live together?”

“We’re not living _together-_ together. It’s like having a roommate, or something. There’s plenty of space, I barely see him.” That is a lie.

“You didn't think to tell me? Or Hermione? How _long_ has he been here?”

“Couple weeks,” Harry mutters.

“ _Weeks_? You’ve gotta be joking!”

“I know! Ron, believe me, _I know._ ”

“Why is he here, Harry?” Ron asks again. “Have you asked him?”

“I have to think that if I would’ve come here, Teddy on my hip, with a key, and saying I needed a place to stay, I wouldn’t want him asking questions.”

Ron sighs. “But he’s only Malfoy. He doesn’t have a kid; you do.”

“And Teddy loves him.” It feels weird to say, but it’s the truth. He’s always talking to or about Malfoy, and there’s no stopping it unless Harry kicks Malfoy out. Which Harry, with a good conscience, can’t. He sighs too. “It is what it is, Ron, and I can’t just kick him out now. At least not without proper cause.”

“That he’s Malfoy isn’t good enough, then?”

Harry laughs. “No. For once, that’s not enough.”

Ron shakes his head. “This is not a good idea, Harry. You can’t save everyone.”

Harry stands his ground. “I don’t want to save him,” he says because it’s really not about that. Malfoy has to redeem himself, must want to change, and seek that change. “I just want to give him a proper chance to save himself.”

~~

It’s been a strange evening overall. Teddy once again invited _Draco_ for dinner and then insisted that Harry needed to talk more to _Draco_ when he kept talking to only Teddy. So, Harry tried again. And Malfoy had turned his smiling face towards him and kept smiling. It had been terrifying. Harry had realised that his smile, at least when directed towards Harry, severely lacked the softness that the gesture otherwise required. It was like all of Malfoy’s sharp lines were more accentuated rather than rounded.

And then he’d spoken. Like a normal human being; no sneer, no hate, no nothing like that, not only _towards_ Harry but _with_ him. And Harry had managed to, for a second here and there, forget how they supposedly didn’t like each other or how this was just because Teddy asked them to.

When he has tucked Teddy in, he goes back to the living room and Malfoy’s still there. Harry backs out, goes to the kitchen and makes himself tea and gives him plenty of time to realise Harry will be out again. But Malfoy stays put. So, Harry makes him a cuppa too.

It’s even easier to pretend they’re somewhat friends when Harry goes back, and Malfoy has seated himself in an armchair, hands neatly folded. Harry gives him the second cup, which he suspiciously takes with a rather polite “thank you.” Harry had been meaning to watch some telly, but it seems strange to disturb whatever is going on with noise, so he settles down, sipping his tea and watching the flames in the open fire, throwing Malfoy the occasional glance.

“Did you put something in my cup?” Malfoy asks after he has drunk half.

“No. Why would I?”

“Then would you stop acting like you’re waiting for me to drop dead or start tapping.”

“Excuse me, then. It’s just tea.”

“You’re a terrible opportunist.”

“Are you saying I _should_ have put something in your cup?”

“I’m saying I would’ve been genuinely surprised which makes it a great opportunity.”

“I’ll think about it next time.”

“I’ll probably never accept tea from you again.”

“I’m not going to _poison_ you.”

“No, but you make horrible tea.”

Harry snorts and Malfoy gives him an odd glance before taking another sip while looking rather pleased with himself. The silence then drags on forever and ever and Malfoy seems not to mind, but Harry’s whole body crawls because he feels the need to say _something._

“So, how are you?”

Malfoy glances at him. “Fine?” he says like an answer and a question to why Harry would ask in the first place.

Harry tries to hide behind his cup. “Okay, cool.”

“Are you trying to make conversation?” Malfoy asks and arches a brow. “Because you’re doing that terrible, too.”

“I don’t see you trying.”

“I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Alright.”

There’s a short silence before Malfoy sighs and turns towards Harry. “How are _you_?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“See? Terrible opener.”

“Think of something better, then.”

Of course, because it sounds like a challenge, Malfoy takes it as one and opens with, “Do you want to get married?”

And because Harry has gotten his steam up, he responds casually, “Oh, I don’t know, Malfoy, it is quite sudden.”

Malfoy’s chin hits his chest. “Merlin’s fuck, Potter, I didn’t mean _to me.”_

“Ah,” Harry says and smirks, “then yes.”

“Are you saying I’m not marriage-material?” Malfoy asks then like he’s somehow offended that Harry doesn’t want to hypothetically marry him.

“Not to be rude, Malfoy, but _no.”_

“Why not? I’m a perfectly good candidate to get married to!”

Harry shakes his head. “Now it _really_ does sound like you want me to marry you.”

“I’m just saying that I’m an eligible suitor, ‘want’ notwithstanding.”

Harry places a hand on the armrest of the armchair Malfoy sits in and levels him with a pointed look. “Maybe in your circles, you’re quite as much of a catch that you seem to think you are, but out here, in the real world, I wouldn’t date you if so my life depended on it.”

“Now, that’s harsh,” Malfoy says, voice flat.

“You understand that the ‘hate and bigoted behaviour’ you talked about literally affects other people, that’s why you’re not _you_ with Teddy. But that ‘you’ is the best version of you I’ve ever encountered, and it’s fake. It’s not that we bicker and fight that has me saying that I wouldn’t ever marry you, it’s that we have fundamentally different values in life.”

Malfoy purses his lips. “It’s not so easy to change the mindset you’ve been brought up in.”

Mockingly, Harry says, “But you’re ‘trying’.”

Malfoy puts nose into the air. “Not that you’d care to notice, you think I’m an awful person.”

“Tell me, concretely, what it is that you’re doing then? ‘Cause the only thing I’ve noticed is that you refrain from _one_ slur which, honestly, is barely an achievement.”

Malfoy looks at him, more offended than he ever has before. Then he gets up and leaves. Harry sinks down into the couch. That worked well. Maybe it had been a bit bluntly put, but really, what did Malfoy expect? To be praised for nothing? Harry sees it as a step in the right direction, in a direction he seems to want to head in, but that is also it.

Then he hears Malfoy on the stairs again, and he steps back into the living room, throwing a book in Harry’s face. Harry groans and looks down at it, and the curses on his tongue slip back into his mouth. He holds _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_ in his hands.

“You’re teaching yourself Muggle Studies.”

“Yes.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

Malfoy throws himself into the armchair again with a groaning sigh. “I _hate_ it.”

“I could teach you.” Harry doesn’t mean to say it, it sort of slips out.

“ _You_?”

“I’ve been told I am a good teacher.”

“By who?” Malfoy snorts.

“The DA.”

“Fifteen-year-olds who hadn’t had a single good Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in their lives? I wouldn’t take their word for it.”

“Lupin was good.” The words fall out of Harry’s mouth before he can stop himself, and they both snap their gazes up at the ceiling, towards where Teddy’s room is located.

“I suppose,” Malfoy says and looks down, “that in retrospective, he wasn’t so bad, after all.”

Harry swallows. “Anyway. I could...”

“Tutor me in muggles?”

“Something like that.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“I’m a suitable teacher, ‘want’ notwithstanding.”

Malfoy scrunches his nose slightly. “You’re not going to give me homework, are you?”

Harry actually laughs.

They don’t start then, it’s too late and, once it’s decided, they’re too awkward about it. But Harry will make sure Malfoy won’t get away with not doing this. They say goodnight (what has their relationship become?) just a few minutes later and Harry goes up to his room while Malfoy remains seated. Why Malfoy had started the conversation about _marriage_ in the first place, Harry realises in bed that he forgot to circle back to.

~~

Harry realises quickly that blatantly disagreeing with something Malfoy believes in is the wrong approach. They only get into almost-screaming matches and Harry gets frustrated that Malfoy just won’t listen. It’s when Malfoy tells him that _Harry’s_ not listening that Harry realises that he _isn’t._ Why should he listen when Malfoy’s so clearly wrong? And that, in turn, makes him realise that Malfoy must think the exact same: that he’s right and so why should he listen to Harry who says something different?

So, Harry starts listening. He hates most of what comes out of Malfoy’s mouth, but he forces himself not to get worked up over it. He tries to make Malfoy explain himself as often as possible, to derive opinions to where it originates. More often than not, Malfoy tells him that he’s “thick” and Harry counters with “so explain better.”

They tend to huddle up in the living room after Teddy has gone to bed. If not for Malfoy’s sake, then for Harry’s, they have the fire lit and cups of tea, everything to make a calming environment. Muggle-borns is the first topic they really tackle when Harry finally _can_ keep his calm. He makes Malfoy to explain every single line of thought that he has, makes him think again and further.

“It’s about blood purity,” he settles on. “It is to keep the magic as clean as possible, as strong as it can possibly be.”

“And a wizard born to muggles, though still a wizard, doesn’t possess as much magic?”

Malfoy sucks on the question for a bit. “Maybe not quantity, but the _quality_. Say, if you have six cheap dinner plates, you will still have six functioning dinner plates, but it’s vastly different if it’s fine China, no?”

“So, by marrying another wizard, the offspring will be of higher blood status, ergo ‘finer’ magic, than if you marry, say, a ‘half-blood’?”

“Yes. And on top of that, mud-” Malfoy throws Harry a glance and does a do-over. “ _Muggle-borns_ are obviously raised in muggle society. They don’t know anything about the Wizarding World or how magical families work. It would be disastrous for a Pureblood to marry one.”

“Is it about class then?” Harry asks. “Magical etiquette and such?”

“The Weasley’s are technically Purebloods, so, no.” Harry gives him a look, but Malfoy just shrugs as if to say “it is what it is” before he continues. “But one would say that most Purebloods hold themselves to a higher standard, and”—he adds as if he just thought of it—”often are of money.”

Harry ponders this and how to go about it for a moment. “What about me? I was raised by muggles.”

“I know.”

“Where does that put me?”

“You’re one of the weird exceptions, Potter.”

“But am I considered a Pureblood since I was born to magical parents?”

“Merlin, no. Your mother was still a mud- Your mother was a muggle-born. Neither you, nor any potential children you have, or they have, will be considered _pure_.”

“How many generations back need to be fully magical for it to be?” Harry asks because now it’s too fuzzy.

Malfoy shakes his head. “I don’t know; it’s not an exact science.”

Harry, raising a brow, says, “I’m beginning to notice.”

“This is what I was taught,” Malfoy says. “It’s simply another aspect of family life and tradition. That you settle down with a pure-blooded girl is the only way, just like such things as how the first-born son is the heir of the family fortune, that you take care of your parents when they’re old, and that you do not engage in premarital relations.”

Harry stares. “Premarital…”

“Sex, Potter. Before marriage.” His ears tinge when he says it.

Harry waves at him. “Yes, thank you, I got that.”

“Yeah, so-” Malfoy starts but Harry puts a hand to his own forehead and exhales a laugh.

He exclaims, “ _That’s_ why you wanted to marry me.”

It’s Malfoy's turn to stare for a second, the pink of his ears only saturating. “Oh, we’re _done_ here, Potter,” he sneers and leaves without another word.

~~

And so, it continues. Harry makes Malfoy break down everything into bits and pieces. It’s a slow process. Harry had expected nothing else, but he had not expected Malfoy to be as persistent as he himself is. Malfoy seems to want to change and know that he has to, but the reason _why_ has yet to become apparent. Harry has been waiting for an opportunity to ask the right questions to get into that topic.

It starts with, “Did you know Voldemort was born to a witch mother and muggle father?”

Malfoy sneers. He does that a lot. “Yes, I’ve inquired that information.”

“Why do you think he did not like muggles?”

“I am not interested in how Voldemort thought.”

Harry throws a hand out. “Humour me.”

Malfoy sighs and rolls his eyes but indulges. “He lived among them, and as they were not like him, they did not understand him. I’d say he was as close to ashamed as he could be, to be part muggle. He hated that part of himself.”

“Do you hate muggles?” Harry asks.

“I have no interest in them.”

His tone suggests nothing else, yet Harry has to ask, “But you have to feel something? What about muggle-borns, do you hate them?”

It takes him a second before he answers this time. “I dislike them.”

“Why?”

“They’re embarking on spaces made for pure-blooded wizards and witches only.”

“How?”

“Like Hogwarts. Had there only been children of the highest blood status admitted, the school would be utmost brilliant, with the best the Isles have to offer.”

“Was it not when we went there? Hermione was top of our classes.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Oh, and such hard classes we had.”

“I know you were second, Malfoy.” Harry regards him for a beat before asking, “Father mad about that?”

Malfoy sits up straighter. “I do not wish to speak of my father.”

“Anything we speak of here, we’re indirectly speaking about your parents. They raised you this way, it’s not like you raised yourself.”

Harry lets the conversation die out at that because it doesn’t feel like the best idea to push. He sips his tea and is fairly surprised when Malfoy shrugs irritably.

“Fine, yes,” he says tightly. “Father kept telling me how embarrassing it was that someone like her did better.”

“So, you were jealous that someone with less fine magic performed better than you? Because, all your life, you’ve been told that you _are_ better than them? Yes?”

“I suppose.”

“But you were second.”

“So?”

Harry turns towards him. “So, not all muggle-borns were better than you. Not all pure wizards were better than the muggle-borns. The hierarchy should’ve been clear-cut, if what you’re saying was true, right? Hermione is exceptional, and clearly, so are you. It’s neither her non-magical family ancestry nor your very magical ancestry that puts both of you at the top. It’s you as individuals. You’re both hard-working and eager pupils, you both possess a natural ability to perform well but also the _want_ to do so. If being a muggle-born mattered so much, Hermione would quite literally not be _able_ to exceed you. Or am I missing something?”

Malfoy looks like Harry took a dump right in front of him. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he says.

“Wh- What? Why not?”

“Because there _has_ to be a difference.”

“Why?”

“Because why would so many people think there _is_ if there _isn’t_?”

And Harry has the perfect come-back. “Why do people think all Slytherins are evil when most of them aren’t?”

It takes Malfoy aback enough that he actually thinks about it for a while. “Some really notable examples?” he guesses.

Harry nods. “And because everyone says so all the time. The first thing I got to know about Slytherin was that Voldemort was one and that there hasn’t been a dark wizard that didn’t belong in Slytherin. Note that Voldemort killed my parents. And then you—one of the only bad experiences I had had with the Wizarding World—was put in Slytherin? I _begged_ the sorting hat not to put me in Slytherin-”

“It wanted to put _you_ in Slytherin?”

“That’s a different story. What I’m trying to say, is that if you are repeatedly told that you are something, you will eventually start to believe it. It’s systematic oppression. The continued subjugation of already exposed groups for the sole benefit of other—already privileged—groups. Meaning that if you don’t fit into certain boxes, you will not get the same opportunities and therefore cannot evolve in the same way as someone who does fit these predefined boxes. Because you’re a Slytherin, you’re evil and you might not be able to befriend anyone from a different house because your house is looked down upon and you might think to yourself that it does’t matter if you are evil or not since everyone already thinks you are so you might as well go down a bad path. If you’re a muggle-born, you’re ‘impure’, and you risk everything from casual remarks to being hunted by racial extremists. If you’re brown, you’re stupid, and you might not get a chance to prove that you're not. If you’re black, you’re dangerous. If you’re gay, you’re unnatural. If you’re not able-bodied, you’re a burden.

“And it goes the other way around; if you are a pureblood, you’re better and your magic is worth more. If you are white, you’re ‘default’ and doors will open for you that won’t open for the brown or the black kid. If you’re rich, you’re smarter, but you also have it easier to get materials, education and so forth because of it. It’s not just about what brown and queer and poor kids think of themselves because their peers tell them something, but how the whole system is rigged for all of these to feel different and therefore try their hardest to fit into the right molds, which of course is impossible. You try to speak differently, dress differently, walk differently, everything to be more like the very small default. And then you fail.

“For whatever you’re told, again and again, you will need to have an enormous power of will, self-confidence, and self-assurance to contradict it. I got so fed up after the war, that I sought myself to communities that could help me. I can say that I’m brown and that I’m also intelligent. I’m a half-blood, and regardless of what that says about my magical capabilities, I know I’m below average in some areas and well above in others. I’m queer and I’m also-”

Malfoy waves a hand to stop him. “You’re… queer?”

Harry smiles a little. “Pretty bisexual.”

Malfoy nods and sits back. Bites his lower lip. Harry waits him out. Malfoy takes his time but finally, he asks, “And that is?”

“Easily put: it’s when you’re into both men and women.”

Looking halfway to mortified, Malfoy asks, “At the same time?”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “I think most people try to find just the one, but polyamory is a different conversation.”

“Poly-what? Is that a spell? Some wicked, queer-”

Harry stops him. “Being queer, Malfoy, is never ‘wicked’.” He lets the words sink in and thinks that it might be a good idea to continue; they haven’t touched sexuality before and it seems to be some obvious issues here too. “It’s _not_ wicked. Or dirty. Or weird. Or unnatural.”

Malfoy sits back, sucks on this revelation like it is the one thing that gets him thinking the most. “Is that also something people just say?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not the norm, and the norm—and those who strive to be the norm—doesn’t like things that aren’t in their little box. Everything outside of it is bad, bad. But being outside the norm is fine. Being queer is fine. Just as being a muggle-born doesn't make you a worse wizard, being queer doesn’t make you a worse person. Loads of people are queer, and we as a group are not bad. Then, like with everything else, there are queer people who are not nice people. The difference is that we’re talking about individuals again, not chunks of society.”

Malfoy cocks his head. “So, what you’re saying is that we’re all the same, then?”

“No. I’m saying we are _all_ different. But we can most usually find some things that tie us together. Yes, you and I are different in social class, skin colour, attitude and a lot of other things. But we’re both English blokes. We’re both wizards. We both love treacle tart—and don’t you even try to deny it, I saw you eyeing the last piece before. We both love Teddy.”

“We’re both…” and Malfoy goes red in the face, he swallows several times and his fingers are literally shaking before he forces himself to finish the sentence, “... _queer._ ”

Harry drops his mouth slightly and blinks at him. “We’re both queer,” he agrees with a nod, he decides to mentally deal with that later and quickly moves on. “And a close-minded person will only look at what separates them to others and distance themselves from ‘otherness’, while an open-minded will find similarities and connect with others through them. An open society welcomes everyone. Conflict is solved through communication. Otherness is treated with curiosity.”

“A Slytherin and a Gryffindor would focus on the things they both value, rather than bashing each other for valuing them in different ways.”

“Well put.”

“I _am_ one of Hogwarts finest alumni.”

Harry rolls his eyes and thinks it’s better for Malfoy to suck on all of this before delving down even further. The way he sits back and stares into the fire at least makes it seem like he’s processing all this information. Harry is sure he’s going to have to repeat it time and time again for the true meaning of it to stick.

~~

Sometimes, Harry doesn’t ease into it. Sometimes, he simply asks, “Why do you think you’re better just because you have the fancy plates?”

And Malfoy, like he’s tired of the metaphor, just glances up from his book and asks, “Am I not? It is _exquisite_ ceramics.” He waves a hand dramatically and looks back down as if he’s going to ignore Harry. Harry knows from experience by now, that Malfoy barely ever can ignore him.

“But it doesn’t make any difference for the food served, does it?”

Draco rolls his eyes and puts his bookmark in. “The food might be the same, but I would much rather have my nice plates than someone else's used ones.” He arches a brow at Harry. “Wouldn’t you?”

Harry shrugs. “Maybe. And maybe everyone else would want that, too. Maybe everyone would _like_ to have your China, but not everyone can. But, maybe some people don’t actually want yours. Some people have their mother’s porcelain and like it that way, and some have bought their own cheap ones at the grocery store. Different upbringings give different wizards, but muggle-borns are still wizards. Why does it make a difference? Why does that make them less worthy of a fine line education? Or access to anything at all magical related? Why are you put in another box just because your parents are born to magical folks? Why do you have to abide by their rules? Like, why are you not allowed to marry someone you love, rather than someone who fits?”

Malfoy looks at Harry like he’s ridiculous. “I’m allowed to marry for love,” he spits.

Harry turns his head while still looking at him, almost wondering if Malfoy is taking a piss. “But only if it’s a woman of pure blood who can give you a son. It narrows it down remarkably, don’t you think?” He pinches his fingers together to show the non-existing possibility of that happening. “Especially, since you don’t even want children, and obviously don’t want to marry a woman.”

Malfoy’s face flares with anger and his voice is cold when he responds. “You better watch that mouth of yours, Potter. I’m perfectly capable and willing to marry whoever will fit me and my family, and I do not care for your input in the matter.”

“So why are you here?” Harry asks without thinking.

Malfoy stops, looking more sheepish than ever. “What?”

And Harry has to continue once he’s gotten into the swing. “Why are you living with a half-blood wizard and _his_ four-year-old godson? Why are you never leaving the house? How are you supposed to marry _anyone,_ if we are the only people you actively see?”

“I… That’s a very private question, Potter,” Malfoy says, voice shrill.

Harry counts on his finger. “You’re of age, you’re pardoned, you got the looks, the money, the blood; as you said, you’re the perfect suitor, and yet you are here. Living more or less alone.” Harry sits back and stares at him. “You’re hiding,” he says.

“I don’t want to discuss anymore.”

But Harry says it again. “You’re hiding”—and he really should shut up, but he doesn’t—”and this whole house is your bloody closet.”

Malfoy suddenly stands. It makes Harry wary, like the finger he points Harry’s way is actually his wand. “You do not get to say that,” Malfoy spews. “You do not get to use my... _sexuality_ or my way of portraying it just to rouse a reaction out of me. I didn’t tell you just so you could fire it back on me, and you should be very fucking careful talking about things you know nothing about.”

Harry doesn’t run after him when he leaves, but he considers it for a second. He’s not sure whether he’d keep arguing or if he’d apologize, so he keeps very still until Malfoy has disappeared into his room. Sighing and sagging, he reflects upon his own words. He’s in the wrong. He knows. Although, he’s weirdly upset and doesn’t want to acknowledge it, so he pretends everything’s fine and that Malfoy just went to bed.

~~

Harry notices the next morning that Malfoy’s door is ajar. He runs cold, did he leave? He hadn’t meant to blow up in Malfoy’s face; accepting his sexuality is clearly still a work in progress and Harry had pushed way too far, especially since Malfoy doesn’t have the support system Harry has. Malfoy has himself and—on some levels—Harry, as the only safety net and knowing Malfoy, Harry’s sure that’s not much of a net at all. He tips the door open with his fingers and pokes his head in. Of course, Malfoy is still there. Sitting by the desk, with the Muggle Studies book on top of it. He looks up as the door creaks and gives Harry a sour look.

“Was there something you wanted, Potter?”

Harry comes to an awkward standstill, almost inside but clearly not. “I was just- I thought you weren’t here.”

“So,” Malfoy says and sits back. “You were going to snoop around my things?”

“No, I wasn’t. The door was open. I thought maybe... you’d left.” There is a moment. They look at each other and Harry doesn't know what is behind that gaze, but when Malfoy turns away from him and continues his reading, Harry feels like he’s missing something.

“Still here. Just as pathetic as when you last saw me.”

Harry doesn't condone self-pity even if he partakes in the activity, but it is at least partly Harry’s fault that there’s a strain between them, that Malfoy is visibly irked. “I wanted to say I’m sorry about my outburst yesterday,” Harry says. Malfoy looks up like Harry instead had said that he was growing a third head in the garden. “There’s a time and place for everything, and for pushing someone about their sexuality it’s: never and nowhere. I know it’s not so easy, and I can imagine it being harder coming out in a family like yours.”

Malfoy shakes his head. “What are you doing?”

Harry closes his mouth on an inhale. What does it look like he’s doing? “...Apologizing?”

“Why?”

“Because I am sorry?”

Malfoy presses, “But why? We don’t”—he waves a hand in Harry’s direction—”do that.”

“Well, I am now. I didn’t mean to push. Take it or leave it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. I’ll see myself out.” He backs out, Malfoy looking at him as if still trying to figure out what just happened.

~~

Harry wonders if he just hadn’t noticed, but every time he walks down the corridor after that, Malfoy’s door is ajar. Harry realises soon that Teddy keeps running in and out of there, and that the one time it is closed, he knocks politely and awaits an answer from inside before opening the door.

The two seem to have formed a well-functioning bond and Harry hopes that it is nowadays genuine in both directions. It’s been almost two months since Malfoy joined them, and it’s generally been two good months. Harry has avoided trying to sit down to teach him or discuss with him for a while, but Malfoy has instead come to him and asked to be shown how things work. One time it is the gashly dishwasher, another time the television (which he enjoyed immensely), and so it goes on. It’s a less intense teaching method, but it seems to make Malfoy more accustomed which in turn makes him less prone to complain that they are muggle things, and instead complain that there is nothing fun running on the telly.

Harry stumbles into conversations Malfoy and Teddy has, accidentally cutting them short, much to his own disappointment. The talks are most often about simple things, but the more time the both of them spend with each other, Harry can hear that the topics become more and more serious. He’s glad that when he’s about to make Teddy ready for bed one night, he overhears the beginning of the conversation when he’s just about to step through Malfoy’s half-open door.

“What’s that?” Teddy asks, and Harry holds up just outside the door when he hears Malfoy respond with the lone word “regret.”

“What’s that?” Teddy asks again.

Harry hears them shuffling around, the bed creaking and Malfoy’s voice sounding rather thin when he says, “It is when you do something, and you later wish that you hadn’t.”

“Daddy has regret too.” Harry’s chest clutches for a second.

“I’m sure he does.” His tone is the very neutral one he has when he, on occasions without Teddy, would’ve said something highly inappropriate.

“His has more colour, though, and sits here,” Teddy explains, and Harry realises that Teddy isn’t talking about that Harry has regrets, but that he has a _tattoo_. (To be fair, Harry has both.)

It seems Malfoy understands just as much. “Oh,” he says, “okay, I think I fooled you a little there, buddy.” He explains that the colour on his skin is a tattoo and the feelings he has towards the tattoo is regret.” Without ever seeing Harry’s tattoo or knowing what it is, he adds, “I don’t think Daddy has regrets towards his tattoo.”

“Okay. Why do you have regret for your tattoo, then?”

“I did some bad things when I was younger. This reminds me that I did.”

“They never go away, right?”

“Regret? I don’t think this will.”

“No, no, the _tattoos_. Daddy’s had his for as long as I remember.”

Harry announces himself by clearing his throat and takes a step in. Malfoy looks up at him while rolling down the sleeves of his shirt, and answers while keeping eye contact.

“No, they never go away either.” He looks curious, his gaze dropping to Harry’s arm where Teddy must’ve shown that his tattoo sits. Harry subconsciously drags a hand over the fabric of his shirt, hiding the ink. He got it done in a muggle studio just a couple months after the war ended. It was a statement for himself, a way of telling himself that this was his body and his body alone, and he could do whatever the hell he pleased with it. Harry, who has seen unicorns in real life, knew that the one he’d gotten was hyper unrealistic, but it was all colours and _fun_. He had barely remembered what fun was at that point. Sometimes, if Teddy is in a foul mood, Harry uses magic to draw fire coming out of its mouth or gives the wings a tap so they start flapping. It usually makes Teddy come around. He has avoided showing it to people, not many even know it exists and Harry likes to keep it that way. It is his private matter.

Harry says it’s time for bed and Teddy jumps down and runs to the bathroom. Harry gives Malfoy another look—gets a raised eyebrow back—then makes sure Teddy brushes his teeth properly.

~~

That’s how life continues. Easy. Honest, and sort of quiet. In the months that follow, Harry and Malfoy only fight a small number of times and the worst is because Malfoy blatantly refuses to give Harry back his electric blanket.

Malfoy joins them for most of their dinners now. He even leaves the house on rare occasions, but he usually doesn't stay out long and always brings back sweets that Harry will one day eat too many of. Teddy starts going to Malfoy with some problems before he goes to Harry, which breaks Harry’s heart at the same time as he feels proud for both of them for growing so much. Malfoy keeps smiling. Sometimes, it looks more real than it does fake. Sometimes, he even gives Harry something softer than a smirk when they’re alone.

At least they still bicker and banter. If not, Harry would’ve gone mad with how easily they just surround each other.

Teddy gets really into _Pingu_ and so Harry buys him a whole season on VHS for his fifth birthday and teaches both Malfoy and Teddy how to use the VCR. They fall asleep curled up on the couch watching it, and Harry stands in the doorway looking at them, starting to quietly think it’s a shame Malfoy doesn’t want children of his own. In the direction he’s going, he could make a great father someday.

~~

Harry should’ve known better. He should’ve learned long, long ago that projecting things into existence is not as hard as it sounds.

He’s happily unaware the morning in question as he steps into the kitchen. Malfoy stands with Teddy on his hip and the sight surprises Harry to a halt. _He_ squeals when Malfoy tips Teddy over so his head points towards the ground before bringing him—laughing like crazy—back up again.

Harry and Teddy both look at him. “I’m being very careful,” Malfoy says straight-faced while looking at Harry and dips Teddy, who screams happily, down again.

Harry smiles, shakes his head, and Malfoy looks smug.

“We’re trying to learn how to say ‘Draco’,” Malfoy informs him, “and every time he gets it wrong, we go for a spin.”

“Dwaco!” Teddy yells, knowing since a couple weeks back fully well how to say Draco with an “r”. Malfoy tips him.

“I see,” Harry says and starts pulling out groceries to make lunch. Malfoy and Teddy keep going; Malfoy’s voice full of mirth as he yells “wrong again, punk!” and Harry has barely ever heard Teddy laugh so much. He watches them more than what he does, so it’s a miracle he doesn’t chop his fingers off.

“Did you forget how to say ‘Draco’?” he asks.

Teddy just laughs.

Harry gets the fryer out while the laughter grows louder, while Teddy starts chanting “Draco” and “Dwaco” alternately. Malfoy keeps tipping him. Harry feels himself smiling as he heats up the stove. He watches Teddy, his hair light blue and hands flinging around. “Draco, Dwaco, D-” He quiets down. “Dad,” he says clearly and blinks up at Malfoy with his ridiculously large eyes. “Yeah, that’s better. Dad.”

Harry goes still. He quickly looks up at Malfoy’s face. He has also gone still, his face has fallen, and for the first time around Teddy, that Harry can recall and have seen, Malfoy’s façade is completely down.

“‘Dad’?” he asks, confusion more so than anything else lacing his words.

“Yeah, you’re my dad, right?” Teddy asks. Sometimes Harry forgets that Teddy is a _child,_ but in that moment, he’s nothing else. So young and naïve and Harry wants him to never grow up.

“Right.” Finally, Malfoy looks down at Harry, frowning. “I guess I am?” he says, and Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t the answer he had expected. Malfoy clears his throat. “Say, Teddy, what do you say we give… your daddy some space when he cooks, and go colour?” Teddy, unbeknown to everything, just jumps out of Malfoy’s arms and runs off yelling. Malfoy takes a step towards Harry and whispers, “He took me by _complete_ surprise, Harry, I didn’t know what to say or do, and I don’t mean to infrin-”

“‘Harry’?”

Malfoy straight up blushes. “Well, Teddy decided to call me _dad_. That’s about as bloody strange, no?”

It sounds like he’d meant to parallel the two, which wasn’t at all in the way he had used Harry’s name. He’d done it almost off-hand, casually, while Teddy had consciously chosen. Harry barely hears the rest of Malfoy’s rant, he just nods and grunts appropriately and he’s lucky that Teddy cuts the conversation short by running back in. He cannot get the fact out of his thoughts that Malfoy called him “Harry” and like it was something he casually did.

Malfoy follows Teddy out this time and Harry has to finish lunch alone, wrapping his mind around a serious number of different things.

~~

They try to talk about it while also avoiding it when Teddy takes a lunch nap. They’ve huddled up in the living room again, and Malfoy mutters that Teddy doesn’t understand until Harry says that “it is what it is.” Malfoy stares at him, running a hand through his own hair time and time again, almost like he’s nervous.

“You want me to be his dad?”

Harry shrugs a shoulder. “What’s important to me, is if that’s what _you_ want. Because that’ll be a life-long commitment. You can't choose now and change your mind later; I won’t let you.”

Malfoy sinks down in his armchair (when did it become _his_ armchair?) and hides behind his tea. “I don’t think I should have responsibility for a child.”

“Newsflash, Malfoy, you already kinda do. And you’re not crap at it.”

“Such high praise, Potter.”

“I’m sitting here, literally telling you that you’re allowed to parent my kid and you don't think that’s high praise?”

Malfoy asks again, “Do you want me to?”

 _Yes._ “That is a complicated question.”

“So, give me a complicated answer.”

“Disregarding what you should or shouldn’t do, if you _want_ to take that kind of responsibility for Teddy, I will let you and encourage it. Teddy has grown very attached to you and I see nothing with your relationship that won’t be good for him. You’re teaching him about such things as boundaries and self-improvement and still, you have fun together and you let him be himself. As long as you understand what you’re setting yourself up to, _for life,_ and still _want to_ : welcome to parenthood.”

It is probably their strangest conversation so far. Definitely their most life-altering, but it doesn’t feel like anything really changes with the words. Malfoy’s already a prominent fixture in Teddy and Harry’s lives, and knowing he always will be only, makes Harry feel… calm. Which he’ll never admit to anyone, but it’s true nonetheless.

Malfoy nods absently and sips his tea. “I’ll talk to him. If it’s what he wants.”

“Pretty sure he made it his mission the first time he invited you for dinner.”

“And you didn’t stop it, even back then?”

“You deserved the chance. And you obviously did well.”

Malfoy doesn’t ask, but Harry can see the question in his face. _Why are you so nice to me?_ Harry’s glad he doesn't ask it aloud because he’s not sure he would've been able to give a coherent answer. Somehow, when Malfoy had come to them all those months ago and Harry hadn’t forced him to leave, it was like Harry had accepted that he would be a part of their lives. He hadn’t known to what extent, or that he would actually _want_ it that way, but things had clearly changed between them long before this conversation. Harry has from the beginning of all of this given him something he has never given him before: Trust. And despite everything he can say without putting thought behind it, Malfoy has yet to betray that trust.

Malfoy finally emerges from behind his cup. “This was not how I expected to have a child.”

Harry snorts. “That’s what every other parent with unplanned pregnancies say.”

“Parent,” Malfoy repeats. “ _Father_.”

“I think he settled on ‘Dad’ very firmly.”

Malfoy looks fairly terrified, but he nods. “Okay,” he says, and he doesn’t have to say more. The decision is plastered across his face alongside his fright. Determination is a look that suits him.

“Okay,” Harry echoes.

~~

“Watch this,” Harry says and loops his arm around Malfoy’s. He ignores Malfoy’s look and smiles at the greeter as the couple in front of them moves away.

“Welcome to Helix! Do you have a reservation, sir?”

Harry steps up and drags Malfoy, who’s still staring at him, along. “Yes, seven o’clock in the name ‘Potter’. We booked a table for three this morning.”

“Excellent!” The greeter puts her finger to the binder in front of her and drags it down the list of names. “Yes,” she says and looks up, “your table is being set as we speak, so if you just stay with me for a second, someone will come to show you to your seats.”

“Great,” Harry says and smiles.

“Are we celebrating?”

Harry nods. “My son just adopted my husband as his second father, so he wanted to put on the fancy clothes because ‘it’s not every day you get a new dad!’”

The greeter puts her hands to her heart and gives Malfoy a soft look. “That is the sweetest thing I have ever heard, _congratulations_!”

Harry turns his gaze to Malfoy, who’s staring at him, looking like his eyes will pop out. Harry leans into the greeter. “He’s a bit of a weird one,” he says.

The greeter laughs, and then a waitress steps up. “Here we are! Follow my co-worker here and she’ll show you to your seats, Mr. Potter.” She turns to Malfoy again and says with a big smile and a little nod, “Mr. Potter.” Harry grabs Teddy’s hand and leads both of them after the waitress and sits them both down as they arrive at a table lit in an orange glow, a dark tablecloth and set with shimmering cutlery. He lets go of Malfoy as they sit, but Malfoy keeps staring.

“Okay, it’s getting weird,” Harry says quietly.

Malfoy leans in. “Why did you say all _that_?”

Harry smirks a little and makes sure Teddy doesn’t stab himself. “You know, I can say anything in that house, and it’ll be just as true as what your father has told you. See, now, this is a _muggle_ restaurant, and at least most people in here are muggles. I want to show you the truth. The truth is that these muggles are lovely people, they make great food, and your sexuality isn’t questioned even when put on display.”

“So, you just thought flaunting me as your _husband_ was the best way to show me that?”

“Daddyyyy,” Teddy whines and Harry ignores Malfoy’s question in favour of paying Teddy attention.

Malfoy doesn’t completely lose his frown or baffled expression during the course of dinner, but he loosens up considerably and engages all of them in conversation. He looks more comfortable in the company of both of them than he’s done before, and Harry likes it.

Harry leans in as they’ve finished up the main course, dessert being downed, and whispers, “He’s going to ask for more dessert than he gets, you should tell him no.”

Malfoy pulls away and looks at him. “Why? We _are_ celebrating.”

“And you need to assert a little authority for yourself.” Harry gives him a pointed eyebrow and Malfoy actually _smiles._ It catches Harry so off guard that he falters and stares for a second before Teddy drags his thoughts away again.

“Can I have another scoop?”

Harry begins to shake his head, but Teddy turns promptly to Draco. Draco immediately shakes his head, too. “Nuh-uh, buddy, one is plenty enough.”

“But-”

Harry tries hard not to smile when he says, “Listen to Draco, he said no.”

Teddy frowns not like he’s confused but as if he’s annoyed. “But, Daddy-”

“You know how Ron would have folded and agreed to give you two and I would’ve said no, and my word would be final?” Harry says, taking out a napkin and sweeps it over Teddy’s chin.

Teddy eyes him suspiciously. “Yeah…?”

“Well, before, Draco was like Ron. Now, Draco is like me.”

It takes Teddy a second. Then, his eyes go wide. “I’ve changed my mind!” he yells. “I’ve changed my mind!”

“No, buddy,” Harry laughs, “no take-backs.” Harry throws Malfoy a look, maybe the outburst would make him feel bad, but he only smiles quietly.

Teddy crosses his arms. “But I want more ice cream.”

Harry isn’t impossible. “How about we make some hot chocolate tonight, instead?” he asks and looks at Teddy like it’s the final offer he’s going to get.

“Hot chocolate?” Teddy narrows his eyes. “With whip?”

Jeez, kid drives a hard bargain. Harry nods. “Sure.”

Teddy sucks on the promise for a second before nodding and sitting back down in his chair. “Okay.”

Harry looks at Malfoy. “Sounds like a fair compromise?” he asks and Malfoy nods.

“Splendid.”

~~

“Teddy starts school this fall. I’ve decided to take an apprenticeship with Ollivander as he does.”

Draco frowns. “What?”

“We have been owling for a while, I think it’s the right choice-”

Draco puts a hand out and interrupts. “You’re not going to teach?”

“Teach?” Harry says, feeling lost.

“Yes?”

“Why- Why would I teach?”

Draco rolls his entire head. “Because you like it? Because you’re”—he winces a bit but does actually say—” _good_ at it?”

“Oh-” Harry stands back a little. “I guess I never really… thought about that.” He shakes his head; it’s an impossible line of work for him. “I don’t think I could, I never even finished school.”

“Do you remember what teachers _we_ had?” Draco looks like he’s going to argue against pretty much any teacher Harry will list, so Harry takes another approach.

“McGonagall is a better headmaster than Dumbledore. She has competent teachers, and I don’t think she’ll need another one for some time. And I couldn't just leave Teddy; he wouldn’t start Hogwarts for another few years.”

“Okay.” Draco nods. “So, don’t teach at Hogwarts.”

Harry shakes his head. “Where else would I teach?”

“There _are_ other magical schools, Potter.” Harry feels a bit stupid for not thinking about that. Of course, there must be. But Hogwarts always felt like the sole option. “Or,” Draco continues, “you could start something of your own. Maybe not a school, but do night classes, help people who struggle with magic, or magical aspects. Anything.” He gives Harry a long look. “Think about it.”

Harry looks back and finds himself nodding. His mind has clearly made itself up and accepted that he might not go with Ollivander after all. “Okay, I- Yeah, I will. Thank you.”

Draco waves at him. “Can’t let you ruin your own life.” Then he snorts. “ _Wand making_ , really?”

~~

“Hermione and Ron have invited us over for dinner tonight.”

Malfoy doesn’t even look up. “Have fun.”

Harry, a little taken aback, takes a second to regroup. “No”—he swallows—”the three of us.”

Malfoy looks like he almost drops his book. “Three?” he asks and gazes scrutinizingly at Harry.

Harry counts. “You, me, Teddy. Three.”

“Why?” His face draws into a grimace, not like he doesn’t want to go, but as if he just cannot understand why he would ever be invited alongside Harry and Teddy.

Harry gives him a pointed look. “I don’t know, maybe because we live together, and now you're Teddy’s dad, and maybe they want to extend an olive branch?”

“Oh.”

“So, are you coming?”

“I have a choice?”

Harry blinks. “Of course, no one is going to _force_ you.”

Malfoy is quiet for a second. “And you’re sure the invite includes me?”

“Positive.”

He lets his attention draw down to his book again. “I will accompany you to dinner, then.”

“It’s a date.” And they look at each other, both horrified and it’s enough so that they choose to completely ignore the weirdness and pretend the words were never uttered.

~~

Harry and Teddy decide to wear matching bow ties. Teddy, for some unbeknownst reason, absolutely loves bow ties which Harry just likes because Teddy looks _adorable_ in them. Harry himself thinks they’re way more pleasant than regular ties too, and he looks rather dapper in one, if he can say so himself.

A few hours later, Malfoy comes out of his room as Harry steps out of his. Dressed in black from head to toe, a thin silver chain at the collar of his dress shirt, hanging almost like a bolo tie, Malfoy cleans up well. And then Harry sees that he has his hair up in that bloody ponytail.

“Is this attire appropriate?” Malfoy asks, tone edging on bored.

“Yeah,” Harry says and looks away, wishing he could cut his hair off so Harry wouldn’t have to reality check himself all the time. Something about that ponytail makes Harry’s fingers itch. “You’re fine.”

“Why thank you, Potter, wish I could say the same about you.”

Harry rolls his eyes and ignores Malfoy’s smirk by getting Teddy. Teddy—who chants “Un-cle Ron-ald, Aun-tie ‘Mi-nnie”—of course, doesn’t understand the layers of complexity it means for Malfoy to come to this dinner, but he treats it formal, and he tells Malfoy that he’s happy he’s finally gonna meet his aunt and uncle. Malfoy smiles and says that he has met them before, just that it was a long time ago, and Teddy’s eyes grow large like this titbit of information changes his whole perception of life.

Harry throws Teddy up on his hip once they reach the bottom of the stairs and goes to the back door.

“Are we not taking the fireplace?”

He looks back at Malfoy, looking a little wary. “I’d rather apparate. Is that a… problem?”

“Of course, it isn’t, Potter.” The look is gone, the sneer in place and they step out on the porch. Harry offers Malfoy his free arm and Malfoy loop them together without a fuzz.

As they drop down, Malfoy quickly lets go of Harry and takes a step away. It doesn’t make Harry feel particularly _bad,_ but it’s not like he _smells_ or anything.

Teddy rings the doorbell and Ron and Hermione both greet them at the door. Teddy runs in between their legs and disappears quickly as if he wasn’t super excited to see them again. Harry feels the tension between all four of them that remain on a sort of stand-off.

“I want to apologize if that's okay with you?” Draco says, surprising the trio. Hermione is the one to take charge and tells him to go on. He nods and looks her and Ron respectively in the eye as he says, “I recognize that my behaviour in the past has been unacceptable. You have been antagonised by my younger self, and I am sorry, and I apologize for that. I’m trying to learn and do better in the future. I want you to know that I’m working on myself, my views of the world, and my attitude towards muggles and muggle-borns especially. I hope one day, I can earn back some dignity and self-respect, which I so clearly have none left.

“Now that Teddy has chosen me to become a part of this family, I feel it is important that you also know that I would never do anything to in any way harm him. That includes me keeping him away from my traditional and bigoted upbringing, but I do not want to hide the truth about myself, as Harry does not about himself. In due time, I’m sure Harry has planned to talk to him about the war and our separate parts in it and I don’t want it to be a hidden fact that I was a Death Eater. If Teddy would choose not to want me in his life anymore because of that or any other valid reason, I will fully respect his wishes, and if anything similar would ensue with either of you or Harry, I will do my very best to respect that too, while remaining a constant figure in Teddy’s life.

“I, of course, will understand if you rather than accept this apology want me to go to hell, but it would be at least _polite_ to invite us in now; I know it’s late April but still it’s shit fucking cold, and I didn’t bring my scarf.”

Harry blinks at him. Hermione and Ron blink at him. Malfoy stomps the ground impatiently. It is Hermione that says something first now too and it is to invite them inside. Malfoy rolls his eyes like a “finally” and pushes past Harry who’s frozen in place. Hermione and Malfoy disappear inside, talking lightly, and Ron and Harry stay put, looking at each other.

“Did that just happen?” Ron asks.

Harry shakes his head, bedazzled. “I think so?”

~~

It’s not as awkward as Harry had expected. Not to say that it's _not_ awkward at all, it’s very awkward during long periods of time, but sometimes the tension lifts. Teddy is the sole saviour, and he basks in the fact that everyone really wants to focus on him rather than having to conjure a topic and talk about that. He tells stories, standing on his chair at the dinner table, and everyone applauds when he changes his hair according to character.

Harry keeps casting Malfoy looks, and he doesn't realise until Malfoy looks at him, a pissy frown. “What?” he asks, and Harry opens his mouth to respond but finds that can't. He doesn’t know “what." He shakes his head.

Hermione looks at him when he moves his gaze to her, and he shakes his head at her too. She nods and looks away like _she_ knows what’s up.

All in all, the dinner goes by fairly smoothly. Enough so that Ron invites them both to stay for a glass of whiskey, and they accept. Ron cleans the table as Hermione pours the whiskey after leading them into the living room. Harry sits down on the couch, Teddy half sleeping against his chest, and he accepts a glass. Draco hogs an armchair to Harry’s right, curling up and holds his own glass in both hands.

“Lights went out on that one early,” Hermione says with a smile, nodding at Teddy in Harry’s lap.

“Been a long day,” Harry chuckles.

“How is he liking having two fathers?” Malfoy looks up, first at her, then Harry, but he doesn’t answer.

“Think he got a bit shocked the first time both of us told him ‘no’,” Harry responds.

“He seems to like you a lot, Draco.”

Malfoy nods. “The feeling is mutual.” Even if he says it rather clinically, it still makes Harry feel good.

“I’m sure we’ll all hate each other when he’s thirteen,” Harry says. He thinks about the fact that if he ever starts dating again, it will be strange to explain the situation. _This is my flatmate who’s also the father of my child even though we’ve never been in a romantic relationship._ And that doesn’t even begin to touch the surface of their complicated relationship. But it feels far away; _dating_. He doesn’t really feel like meeting someone, he’s very happy where he is right now. He looks over at Malfoy. What if _he_ starts dating? All of a sudden comes home with a man? God. That’d be… awkward. What sort of arsing situations have they set themselves up to? And how long are they planning on staying like this? Draco moving in had seemed temporary, but now, with Teddy and everything, it seems more permanent. Or? Harry tries to push it away because it makes him feel anxious just thinking about it.

When he circles back to the conversation, Ron has joined them and the three are actually talking. Malfoy asks questions about their work and it’s light, almost small talk, but it works. No one twists in their seat. Harry smiles. It feels nice that his whole family gets along.

~~

Malfoy helps Harry tuck Teddy in when they get home. Then, they walk off to their respective doors. Something feels left unsaid, and it seems like both of them kind of drag their feet. Harry stops when he opens his door and he turns.

“Thanks for coming tonight.”

Malfoy doesn’t answer at first, just leans against his own door frame. “They were surprisingly pleasant.”

Harry nods. “So were you.”

They stand quietly for a while. It feels strangely calm, yet there’s some undefined tension. It’s been a long night, Harry thinks, they’re just tired. Malfoy makes a move to retreat.

“Good night,” he says, and after a breath, a second, he adds, “Harry.”

Harry holds his gaze. “Good night, Draco.”

He disappears behind his door quickly, but not before Harry can see that he has a tiny smile on his lips.

~~

Ron has such a bad cold he sends their owl with a note cancelling any and all babysitting duties because he can’t get out of bed. Harry was supposed to meet up with a woman from a school (not Hogwarts, what) and he panics for a second before he realises that Draco is literally right there.

“Hey,” he says, kicking Draco’s foot under the table. Draco wipes Teddy’s chin and gives Harry evil-looking eyebrows. “Would you mind taking him for the night? Ron’s ill, and I’m seeing Mrs. Hernandez.”

“Of course,” Draco says and holds a hand on top of Teddy’s head, so he can’t run away. “Go do your thing, I’ve got this.”

Teddy screams loudly, and Harry glanced down at him. “You alright there, buddy?”

“I’m trying to become the Hulk!” Teddy yells.

Harry laughs and Draco smirks at him.

When he’s about to leave, he stands in the door and recites to Draco all that he must remember.

“I know this, Harry.”

Harry’s stomach flips. He pushes his hands down his jacket pockets to not have to think about the fact that he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Yes, of course, you know the procedure, and anything he tells you otherwise is a lie, okay? I don’t want you becoming his favourite dad, either, so no candy! And he has to brush his teeth.”

Draco leans against the doorframe as Harry steps out. With a too pleased smirk, he drawls, “I’m already his favourite dad.”

Harry points at him but can’t help but grin back. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

~~

He gets back home a couple hours later, Teddy in bed and Draco watching the telly. He throws his keys onto the hallway drawer, staggering into the living room and crashing down in his armchair. He closes his eyes, sighing and wiggling himself down comfortably.

“How’d it go?”

“It was good,” Harry says. He opens one eye and looks at Draco. “You?”

“Burned down half the kitchen, only ate treacle tarts for dinner, watched ‘Saw’, and he went to bed just before you stepped through the door.”

“Ha ha.”

“He’s fine. Didn’t even ask about you.”

Harry hurts. “He’s growing up too quickly, soon I’ll be glad if he comes to visit.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“What are we watching?”

Draco grins. “Saw.”

They watch the movie, commenting throughout, and Draco even laughs occasionally at Harry’s remarks. It makes Harry feel a bit flustered, and he doesn’t get why.

When it’s over, they both get up. Harry follows Draco up the stairs, arguing quietly whether it had actually been a _good_ movie or not (Draco says no, Harry says yes) and it’s heated enough that Harry follows Draco when he walks into his room. Harry grips the door and fully expects Draco to keep going, so when he doesn’t and instead turns on the spot like he’s going to come with a really good argument, Harry is just… _there_. So close. They look at each other for a second, and Draco seems to forget whatever it was he was going to say.

“I…” he says, but nothing else. Harry just looks at him. It’s an opportunity and—without really reflecting over it—he seizes it. Harry leans in and kisses him.

Draco sucks in a quick breath through his nose and Harry pulls back a fraction. He thinks that maybe this is the first time Draco has kissed anyone, and he wants to take a step back to apologize, or rewind time to _ask_ first. But Draco steps in closer, practically presses them together, and his movements are unsure and hesitant, but the intent shines through clearly.

Harry puts his hand on the side of Draco’s neck and kisses him again, soft and slow. To Harry, this is when he realises that it’s real. That he’s kissing Draco Malfoy with no desire to stop, and he continues. The want has crept up on him slowly, but now when he feels Draco’s skin underneath his fingertips, it makes sense. He feels gut-punched in the best of ways and he presses them together, trembling wet lips and solid bodies. He wants to taste every inch of him, feel him, but it’s Draco that drags them towards the bed; Harry forcing the door shut with his foot and then lets himself be guided forwards.

Draco tugs at him, kisses him again and a tiny whine escapes him when Harry hesitantly licks into his mouth. His tongue is right there to meet Harry’s the next time around and Harry’s limbs melt into a puddle, yet he finds the strength to hold Draco in a securing grip.

It’s all unhurried and tentative, but Harry hadn’t remembered how much he missed this form of intimacy. Just kissing another person, holding their body in your hands and _hearing_ how they liked it. He thinks that if he’s not careful, he’ll get addicted to it. To Draco. When Draco sits them down on the edge of the bed and Harry fists a careful hand in his hair, earning himself a barely audible gasp, he thinks that maybe he already is. He wants him to do that again and again, wants him to never take his hands off Harry. Draco’s hand rests on Harry’s leg, just above the knee and he splays his other over Harry’s chest. He feels almost lost in it but so in the moment that it still feels so bloody real.

Harry wants to say something, ask something, but his brain comes up empty when Draco tugs at him again, this time to follow him down on the bed. So, Harry just follows as Draco groans and leans back enough to lie down. Chest to chest, Harry can feel the tension shift. From uncertain to something more intentional and it doesn’t take long before Draco pushes at his shoulder and they both roll over. Their lips barely stop touching, and then their whole bodies are flushed together. Harry grabs his waist and Draco squares Harry’s head in with his arms, kissing him in all earnest.

It’s so much, yet it’s too little. Harry snakes his arms around Draco’s back, hugs him, kisses him deeper, quicker. Harry moves his hips to meet him when Draco grinds down on him, and Draco gasps again. This time, Harry gasps with him.

There’s a soft knock on the door then. Above him, Harry can see Draco opening his eyes, looking down at him. This, he realises, is when reality kicks in for Draco. This is when he understands that he has been kissing Harry Potter. Draco has a very particular look in his eye, and it’s unbelievably clear that their connection is broken. Harry swallows, his heart sinking, because he realises that Draco will not kiss him again.

“Bullocks,” Draco says, quickly getting off him. He rolls to his back beside Harry and gives him a pointed look when Harry doesn’t move.

“What?“ Harry whispers. “He’s knocking on your door, he’s obviously not expecting to find _me_!” Draco’s face turns into a baffled frown.

The door is hazed open, the handle creaking worse than the hinges. “Dad?”

Draco closes his eyes. Harry wonders what he’s thinking, how he feels about the newly found parentship. He has never complained or acted like Teddy is a burden, he did choose to accept the parent role and he told Hermione he liked Teddy, but then again, he had basically said not long ago that he doesn’t like children. Maybe Teddy has become an exception. Draco throws his feet over the side of the bed and sits up, his hair cascading down his back. “Hey, Teddy, what are you doing up so late?”

Harry hears light stomps as Teddy runs up, and Draco stands, then bends to pick him up. He hoists Teddy up on his hip, not seemingly reacting to the bone white mop of hair Teddy’s sporting. He looks like a mini-Draco and Harry's stomach twists with a weird sort of pride mixed with ache. Teddy digs his hands into Draco’s collar bones and presses his cheek to his chest, effectively turning his head so all he has to do to see Harry, is look down.

And, of course, he then does. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hey there, buddy,” Harry says as normally as he can with half a boner and lying in Draco’s bed. He wishes Teddy wouldn’t have seen him, but damage done, he sits up.

“Want to talk about it?” Draco asks. He strokes Teddy’s hair, to calm him down, and Teddy seems to relax in seconds.

“Dreamt up a boggart,” he says.

Draco casts Harry a glance like “really? you had to teach him about boggarts?” and Harry has no way of defending himself, even if it was actually Ron who had read a story about them. “A boggart? Yes, they can be scary, but do you know we can get rid of them too?”

Teddy nods. “Riduclus!”

Harry smiles. Draco agrees that was _exactly_ what one would use—despite it being pronounced a little bit differently—and he moves towards the door.

“Draco,” Harry says, and Draco holds up, back towards him, but he throws a glance over his shoulder. “Maybe we could… I don’t know, pick this up later...?”

But as Harry expected, he doesn’t find any real truth in Draco’s answer. “Yeah. Later.”

~~

Draco stays with Teddy, and Harry follows after just a couple of minutes to check that they are okay. With Teddy holding one of his hands, Draco sits reading out of the Tales of the Beedle and the Bard at the side of Teddy’s bed. He doesn't look up when Harry leans against the door frame, arms crossed, but Harry hears the slight pause in his voice. Harry watches them until Teddy is obviously sleeping again and Draco lets the story die out and he goes quiet.

“Draco-”

Draco gets to his feet, putting the book down and he pushes past Harry. “Good night,” he says, and it sounds almost like the words gets stuck halfway out. He disappears into his room, closing the door quickly, and Harry looks after him. Well, fuck. Sighing, Harry looks down and sniffs a little. He feels stumped, cheated, scared Draco won’t ever talk to him again. He wishes his impulse control was just a little bit better. Even if he doesn’t regret kissing him, he wishes he would’ve done it differently or not at all, if that would’ve been what Draco had wanted. Now, he doesn’t know anything.

“Yeah,” he says to himself when he finally decides to close Teddy’s door and go to bed. “Good night.”

~~

Harry walks in on him making toast in the kitchen the next morning. Draco throws a look over his shoulder, not even a proper look, and he only mumbles when Harry says good morning. Harry scratches the back of his head, unsure how to approach the subject. He figures they just need to get to it, start somewhere to open the conversation, to hash it out.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

And Harry had expected an “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Potter” or a “there’s nothing to talk about” or maybe just a “talk about what?” because either or a variant would open for further discussion. That’s how they usually do it. But there is nothing Harry can say when Draco doesn’t even look up and simply states, “No.”

“Oh. Okay.” He is taken aback, wasn’t expecting such straightforward resistance. “I just thought-”

“I said ‘no,’ Potter.”

Harry doesn't gape, but he looks away. “Right. I’m sorry.”

~~

Harry beats himself over the head time and time again for being so utterly stupid. Draco keeps acting weird, short, around Harry. He’s like normal with Teddy, which is good, Harry guesses, but he goes practically mad with how everything was good between them and now… “they” as any type of concept is just gone.

He lets it go a couple days. It gets marginally better but not good. Finally, he thinks he must break the ice somehow.

Harry knocks on Draco’s door. He waits for Draco to say “yes?” before he opens it.

As usual, Draco sits with his book at his desk. He looks up, just then surely realising that it’s not Teddy at the door. His face closes off completely. Harry hurts inside when he sees it.

Harry licks his lips and looks down the floor. “Don’t mean to disturb, I just…” He trails off. He lifts his hand, stretches it out and Draco doesn’t look away from it once he looks up again.

“What are those?” he asks.

Harry shakes his hand a little. “Flowers.”

Draco doesn’t even roll his eyes, he just looks flabbergasted. “Yes, but why?”

“It’s your birthday.”

“So, you got me flowers?”

Harry shrugs. “I thought it eloquent. But I am bad at gifts. Do you not like them?”

“Yes. They’re-” Draco slowly stands up and accepts them. Harry thinks it’s probably the best conversation they’ve had in quite the number of days, and that's saying something because this is more stilted than most conversations they ever have had. Draco keeps staring at the flowers. “Marigold is literally my favourite flower.”

Harry looks at the expression on his face and feels himself smile. “You’re such a dork, having a favourite flower.”

Finally, Draco looks up. “Shut up, Potter.” He looks around the room and finds a vase on a shelf. He takes it down, puts the flower in and sits down in the chair as he puts them down on the desk. He doesn’t really seem to be able to take his eyes off them. He swallows several times before he, with a voice lower than usual, says, “Thank you.”

“Happy birthday,” Harry says. He hesitates. He wants to talk about the kissing accident. Maybe it's time they did. “Do you have plans?”

Shrugging, Draco asks, “Do I ever?”

“Let’s go to dinner. Talk.”

Draco sighs. “Potter-”

Harry hurries to say, “Or not. Let’s go to dinner and be quiet.”

Draco gives him a levelled look. “You can never be quiet.”

“Let’s go to dinner and fight. Throw some fists. Couple hexes. Maybe you’ll like it.” He sees Draco’s mouth quirk, just a little, and he grins. Maybe they can finally move past this seriously awkward stage. Hopefully go back go where they were before Harry kissed him. Maybe, just a tiny maybe, Harry will be allowed to kiss him again.

“Fine,” Draco finally agrees. “Take me to dinner.”

“Good. I’m dropping Teddy off with Ron in an hour, then we’ll go.”

“Fine.”

~~

Harry is certain Draco will never admit it, but the whole night feels very much like a date. They insult each other more in this one night than they’ve done the entire time living together, but Draco has neither smiled nor laughed as much in only Harry’s company before.

When they get home, Draco retreats to his room, a little too quickly, and when they sit down for breakfast the next morning, he’s back to being uncomfortable in Harry's presence. Harry feels helpless; he thought they were good, that they’d maybe not worked through stuff but moved past it. At least, moved _beside_ it. But Draco has closed down again.

~~

It takes almost two more weeks. Two weeks of slowly getting back to normal, being able to look at each other without Draco stuttering to a halt and leaving as soon as he possibly can.

When they hold a conversation, Teddy only present for about half of it, and Draco doesn't run, Harry takes it as good progress.

He hadn't realised just how good progress, but then suddenly, that evening, Draco knocks on his door, stepping in at Harry’s invite. He looks rather pale. “I want to talk… now,” he says quietly.

“Okay.” Harry quickly gets up from the bed and puts his book away while Draco closes the door and turns to him again. Harry steps towards him, cautiously. “What do you-”

Draco’s lips are on his lips again. Rushed and harshly like he’s afraid of his own action, but cannot help himself because he _wants_ it anyway.

Harry recoils. “Draco-”

“Shut it, Potter,” Draco says desperately, and Harry shuts it. He lets him fist his hands in the front of Harry's shirt, back him up against his wardrobe, effectively pressing them together as close as possible, lets himself be kissed.

Draco pulls back slightly, breathes quickly. His eyes are closed. Harry looks at him, and he wants to just let him kiss him, say nothing, wants to want it like that. But he doesn’t. He tries again. “Draco…”

“Just-” He presses their foreheads together. “Harry, _please._ Don’t.”

Harry swallows, whispers, “I have to.” He lets his hands come to a stop at Draco’s waist, not letting him slip away, and kisses him slowly. “Talk to me,” he says then, rubbing Draco’s nose with his own. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

Harry takes a breath. “Then I can’t do this.” He leans back, head bumping against the wardrobe.

Draco looks desperate for a way to continue, without specifying it. He pulls a little at Harry’s shirt and tries with, “This is nothing.”

Harry’s hands slip off him. “I- _No_ , Draco, this is _everything_. And I need it to be. Otherwise, it’s not what _I_ want.”

“What _do_ you want?”

“You.” He understands it himself when he says it out loud, just how _much_ he wants him and to be with him, in any way, shape, or form. “Us, _this_ , whatever we had last month, more. Anything. Everything.” He takes a breath and says again, “You.”

Draco presses their mouths together again. “I’m sorry,” he says against Harry’s lips afterwards, and Harry has time to think that this is it before he continues. “I’m sorry for being a jerk and a coward, for being jealous and petty, for taking the Mark and agreeing to kill Dumbledore, for letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, for breaking your nose, for calling Granger that word. You can’t forgive me for all of that or all else I have done and said, but I’m sorry, Harry, I’m so sorry…” His words crumble into harsh breaths.

Before Harry knows it, he’s pulling Draco into a hug. Draco’s hands are trapped between their bodies and he presses his face to Harry’s neck, sobbing, and Harry just holds him. Pets his hair, kisses the top of his head, steadies him.

“I- If we talk about it,” Draco whispers, “it’s real. Then I am _this_.” Harry doesn't have to ask what he means, it’s been obvious since he told Harry about his sexuality that it’s very much an issue for him. “And if it’s real, it’ll all go to shit. What will I tell my parents? I’ll be a disgrace; I’ll be disowned. What happens when this doesn’t work out?”

“And what if everything works out?”

“What about Teddy?”

Harry doesn't answer immediately because he doesn't understand what he means. Then he realises that Draco means what will happen when _he and Harry_ don’t work out. “You’re scared I’ll cut you off.”

It takes a while, then Draco nods. “Yes.”

“I told you, if you choose to be his dad, it’s a lifetime thing. Whatever happens between us, whether it’s _this_ , or something else, I know you’ll be good to him, and that you love him, and I wouldn’t go back on my word.” They stay quiet for a while. Harry holds Draco so close and Draco moves his hands to lay them lightly on Harry’s chest, fingering at his shirt. Harry watches him, while Draco keeps his gaze down. “Would you like us to draw up some papers? Legalize your position? In case you don’t think my word is enough.”

Draco looks up. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah. To me, it’s no difference.”

“Then I’d like that. Not because your word is inevitably untrustworthy, but I… I think _mine_ is. I can’t give everything up for this and then... Should anything happen to you, I _can’t_ lose him, too.”

~~

“Why are you here?” Harry asks again, and this time, he does it while drawing figures on Draco’s bare arm while lying in Harry’s bed, and it is received better than before.

Draco throws him a glance and sighs. “My parents want me to get married,” he tells the roof. “They’re trying to set me up with women. They don’t understand why I… am not as _receptible_ to the thought as they want. They even have this one girl they would really like me to engage, this Astoria Greengrass. I know her, I even _like_ her. We get along, but she...”

“...is a woman?”

“Even so, even if she’d been a man, there’s just nothing there when we interact. I don’t even get mad at her, I just come up… blank. And I can’t marry someone that doesn’t make me feel _anything_? Right?”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“My parents, despite all their faults, still love each other. I don’t want to be indifferent. I want to be better than that.”

Harry squeezes his arm. “I’m sure you will be.”

~~

It’s a maze, trying to figure out how to be in each other’s presence. Not only does Harry have to think about Draco’s obvious concerns with being gay, but also not involving Teddy in it all before they’ve figured stuff out, his own feelings that are suddenly just bursting at the edges, mentally preparing to maybe get rejected, scolded by friends, and both of them to again be hung out in the Daily Prophet, should they ever be public. It’s rather exhausting, going from quiet everyday “teach Draco about muggles”, to all this. Especially because every look and touch and whip of his hair now makes Harry’s stomach flip. And he has realised that the damn ponytail is turning him on and makes him want to grab it while pushing Draco up against a door or a wall or any other hard surface and kiss him breathless. It’s a relief to be able to at least put words to the feeling, even if he doesn’t act on it.

Maybe he should treat it like something normal, to get Draco more accustomed to it, but he doesn’t know how to. He keeps feeling like everything is fragile, he treats it with kid-gloves, and it forces Draco to be the one to move things forward. Sometimes, he does.

Sometimes, he comes into Harry’s room and kisses him. A minute, two, before he leaves again, looking almost like he’s going to cry. Harry lets him be, lets him take his time to work everything out. Sometimes, he holds his arm out towards Harry when they sit in their armchairs talking about muggles and Harry slides his hand into his. Sometimes, he hugs Harry good night, and sometimes, those hugs last for longer than Harry can time. Sometimes, he lays in Harry’s bed and they just run their fingers over each other’s skin. Not pressed up, not kissing, just talking and mapping each other out.

It’s one of those nights, when Draco slides on top of Harry’s bed, already in pyjamas, that he asks, “Can I… sleep here tonight? With you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, doesn’t even think about it. “Okay.”

They’ve never taken their clothes off in front of each other. But Harry only sleeps in pyjama bottoms because he runs to warm otherwise, so when he comes back from the bathroom after brushing his teeth, he’s bare-chested. He sees Draco’s eyes on him, feeling a bit self-conscious even if he knows he’s not exactly _deformed_ or anything.

“That’s _not_ how unicorns look.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.” He slides down between the covers, and Draco immediately reaches forward to touch him.

“I didn’t know you had scars,” he says while running his fingers along them.

Harry shrugs. “Would’ve been stranger if I didn’t.”

“I have, too.”

Harry feels his breath hitch and he turns from his back to his side to face him. “Because of me?” he asks, voice thin.

“I think it was mostly my own fault, but you put them there, yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

And Draco swallows, nods. “I’ve already forgiven you.”

Harry strokes a hand up Draco’s neck, over his jaw and cheek, into his hair. Lets it rest there. They say nothing else for a long time, Draco just touches him, Harry watching his face as he does.

“We should probably sleep.”

“Yeah.”

Harry whispers “nox” and the room falls dark. Draco moves in closer, uncertain. Harry folds his fingers over his waist and drags him in, making them graze each other from top to toe. Harry is gonna be so bloody warm, but he can’t muster up the emotion to care. Draco’s breath on his chin is intimate, and very carefully, Harry slides his hand into Draco’s soft shirt and up his back. He’d thought maybe Draco would recoil from the touch; instead, he pushes into it, into Harry, flushing them together with his arm suddenly around Harry’s waist too. Without meaning to, Harry gasps.

“You make me _feel,_  Harry,” Draco whispers against his lips, not really kissing him, not really _not_ kissing him either, “and it’s like the fastest riptide because one second I positively _hate_ you and next… rolls a wave and I just feel fiercely protective, and then for a second, I want to snog your face off. And it’s _always._ I feel so much around you it pisses me off.”

Harry laughs, short and nervously. “Maybe you _should_ marry me, after all.”

“Piss off, Potter,” Draco laughs and pushes at Harry’s shoulder.

The way they kiss shifts dramatically when they’re propped up against each other, thin clothes and the darkness encapsulating them. The kissing in itself, fairly standard, but quicker, more clacking of teeth because they’re impatient, but the real difference lies with their hands, their legs, how both of them _react._ As Draco moves a hand all over Harry, Harry allows himself to do the same to him. He wants to touch all of him and tries to do so. Draco moves his leg to put it on top of Harry’s and it makes Harry push his knee between Draco’s legs and that in turn, makes them lie even closer, more curled up, more of everything. As they keep kissing, grinding up against each other, Harry gets hard, and he can easily feel that Draco does too. Harry almost forgets how to breathe.

Draco twists his fingers into Harry’s hair. “I want this,” he says and kisses Harry deeply again. “I want you.”

Even though the statement makes Harry want to devour him, he pulls back a little. “We don’t have to stress.”

“I know that, Potter, now would you get back here so I can snog your face off?”

Harry leans in again. It’s frenetic for a while longer, until they settle again, kissing slower, deeper, hungrier. Harry licks his lips, then takes Draco’s lower lip between his teeth.

“Potter,” Draco says, the “p” slightly muffled.

“Hm?”

“You’re biting my lip.”

“Yeah. Thought it’d be fun.” And Draco sounds rather funny when he talks.

Surprisingly, though, Draco says, “Admittedly, it’s rather nice.” Harry lets him go and kisses him again, padding Draco’s lip with his tongue as in slight apology for biting it. Even if Draco actually liked it.

“What are you doing now?” Draco asks a second later.

Harry is _sucking_ on his lower lip. “Just trying stuff out.”

“Well, it’s weird. That’s not how you kiss.”

Harry pulls back. “I think it can be, I mean, I just did it while we were kissing. Do you just think it’s weird, or don’t you like how it feels either?”

“I dunno, Potter, stop asking so strange questions.”

“You try it,” Harry says and pouts his lower lip out.

“You look ridiculous. This feels ridiculous.” But he leans forward and takes Harry’s lips between his teeth. He runs his tongue over it before biting down slightly, then sucks at it gently. Harry—who didn’t know you could go from bantering playfully to sexually melting in half a second—closes his eyes and breathes out heavily.

Draco sucks a little harder before he leans back again. “That was… interesting,” he says.

Harry opens his eyes and looks at him for a second. Draco eyes are glazed with quiet want, and Harry dives in to kiss him hard.

“I want you, too,” Harry says then.

Draco responds by pressing in as close as he can and breathes “take me” against Harry’s lips. Harry startles a laugh.

“What?” Draco asks, and it’s dark, but Harry’s pretty sure he’s blushing. “I haven’t done this before.”

“Yeah, no shit, Malfoy.”

“Sod off.”

“Well, that makes two of us, so-”

“You never...?”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, right, with _who_ would I have done it with?”

“I dunno.”

“Ginny and I never got back together, and since then I’ve had Teddy. I haven’t even gone on a date since, like, fifth year.”

“I’ll take you out.” There’s a pause. “If you want.”

“I- Yes,” Harry says. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Good. Some other day. Now, I just want to…” he nods as if to indicate _this._

“Since we’re both kinda new-”

“Potter, could you, perhaps, _not_?”

“All I’m saying is that we’ll just do whatever we want and feels nice and if there’s anything we just talk about it?”

“Merlin, you like to talk.”

“Draco, please.”

“Fine, yes, just, let’s get on with it.”

“What do you want?”

“To touch you. For you to touch me.”

“Maybe we should, uhm, get some clothes off, then?”

“That’d be preferable, Potter.”

It’s clumsy and takes quite a lot of time just to get Draco out of a pyjama shirt and the both of them out pyjama bottoms, despite Harry being pretty sure that this is easier than button-downs and jeans and belts and socks and shoes. But then they are. Not naked, but almost so, covers discarded down at the foot side, and Harry has his hand trailing scars over Draco’s chest. Draco takes Harry’s hands and puts it on his arse instead, and Harry laughs.

“Nice,” he says, squeezing.

“Be quiet, Potter.” There's amusement in his voice. Harry likes it. They push in again, kissing, and touching each other as if playing with Playdough. _Everything_ feels so nice to grab.

Harry gives in first. He moves back slightly and drags a light hand over the front of Draco’s underwear, feeling how his cock reacts. “Can I-”

“Please, Harry,” Draco whines quietly and apparently that’s a _thing_ for Harry because his legs go completely numb and his breath catches. He wants to ask him to say it again but feels a bit embarrassed about it, so he shuts up. Instead, he carefully snakes his hand under the elastics of Draco’s underwear and wraps a hand around him. Draco moves his hips, pushing into Harry’s hand, almost as if he doesn’t mean to and his body just does it for him. He breathes out through his teeth, and Harry starts to slowly move his hand. Draco gasps, digs his fingers into Harry’s arm and bites down on Harry’s lip. Harry closes his eyes and savours the sensation, but he flicks them quickly open when Draco lets him go and a tiny moan escapes him.

“More,” he says, and Harry goes a little faster, holds him a little harder. It makes Draco’s breath hitch, over and over, and soon every hitch is accompanied with a moan. Harry’s whole body feels like it’s on fire, and he presses up to him, hard-on against his thigh, tugging him even faster.

Draco completely stops breathing, his hips jerks, and Harry feels his cum, hot against his hand, a second before Draco breathes out an intense groan against Harry’s lips. Harry makes sure to touch him slowly through it. He lets out a tiny sob when Harry pulls down the final time and then he goes lax next to Harry.

Harry feels wild. Hot, bothered, can’t believe they just did that-sort of wild. He breathes harsher than Draco, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with his cum-covered hand, and he’s so hard against Draco’s leg.

Draco takes a minute to collect himself, his breathing evening out to normal, then he asks, sounding in awe and looking at Harry, “Do you want me to…?”

“If you want?” Harry responds, despite wanting to yell out “ _yes_ ” about a hundred times. “Otherwise, you don’t”—Draco palms Harry through his underwear—”have to…” The rest of the sentences dies and is replaced with a quiet moan. “Fuck,” he says when Draco pushes his underwear out of the way and frees him. Everything turns into Draco’s mouth on Harry’s lips and Draco’s hand on Harry’s cock. He urges Draco on with small yeses and bucks into his hand, feeling heavy with need and want. He makes, if possible, even more sounds than Draco, and briefly he’s scared maybe Teddy will hear them. Then, Draco adjusts his grip and jerks him off even quicker, and Harry just cannot think at all.

~~

“What?”

And this time, Harry knows what. “I like you,” he says.

Draco snorts, casting him a glance. “You mean, you can _stand_ me.”

Harry blinks at him. “What? No, I mean, I _like_ you.” He frowns, and Draco shifts in his armchair.

“No,” he says again, staring into the unlit fireplace. “No, Harry. You don’t.”

“I- I do. I like you.”

“Stop. Don’t-” Draco takes a breath, looks pleadingly at him. “Stop saying that.”

“But I-”

“You like the idea of who I could be. It’s not me. Not here, now, you don’t like _this.”_

Harry crosses his arms. “I do.”

“You really don’t.”

“ _I do._ ”

“Why? Huh?” Draco asks, his face tensing up, his shoulders set. “Why do you like this version of me who has to force himself constantly to think and act appropriately? Don’t be stubborn, Harry, and don’t fool yourself. Maybe you want me, maybe you even care about me, but you’re not catching feelings for me. That is not what’s happening. You’re never going to even _begin_ to fall for a _Death Eater._ ” He promptly turns away from Harry, biting his lip and he holds his hand over the sleeve which hides his Mark.

“You’re right,” Harry says and stands up. “I’ll never fall for a Death Eater. You aren’t one”—he gets to his knees in front of Draco, covering his hand with his own—”and I’m falling for you.” Draco refuses to look at him. Just stares down in his lap and Harry cups his face with his other hand. “I _know_ you’re not the most perfect man and it doesn’t matter. You want to be and do better, you’re stubborn and a git, sometimes I want to punch your face in and sometimes I can barely breathe because you’re kissing me, you’re smart, ambitious and flawed, you’re the father of my child, and I am falling in love with you. That is not my perception of you, or reality, or us; that is cold, hard fact.”

“You’re the absolute worst, Potter,” Draco says and presses in for a harsh kiss.

“Look who’s talking,” Harry says and bites his lip.

“Just kiss me.”

“Bossy.”

“So, shut me up.”

~~

“So, what’s the deal?” Ron asks when Harry finally tells him (“So… Me and Malfoy… Apparently, that's happening.”) and Ron has had enough time to wrap his head around it. “You boyfriends? Lovers? Engaged?”

“We’re…” Harry looks at him, a little sheepish. “I don’t know. I haven’t asked?”

~~

The question sits with Harry for a couple days before he voices it. Draco has slept in his bed a few more times, and he seems comfortable there. Harry likes him there, likes waking up with Draco in his arms, likes falling asleep with Draco on his shoulder.

He’s there now. Stirring. He flutters his eyes open, then presses his eyelids together when he realises the sun peeks at him.

“Morning.”

“Hm.” He’s very cute first thing.

“Sleep well?”

“Can I sleep more?”

“Technically, you could. But you could also kiss me.”

Draco frowns like it’s a difficult choice. “Like that too,” he says and then he looks at Harry again with slitted eyes. “Hi.”

“Hellu.”

Draco pulls the corner of his mouth and Harry bends down to peck his lips. Draco makes an appreciative sound and Harry laughs a little before repeating the action. Harry lies back down, fingering at Draco’s shoulder, looking up into the ceiling.

“Spit it out, Potter.”

He hesitates. “Are we…”

Draco’s fingers glide over his chest. “Are we, what?”

“Boyfriends?” Harry asks, peering down at him.

The hand stops abruptly, and Draco looks confused. “Boyfriends?”

“Yeah?”

“That is- I- Boyfriends? Is that a _thing_?”

Harry grimaces. “Well, yeah. I mean, I guess we’re _dating_ , but-”

“We’re dating?”

Now he stares down at Draco. “Aren’t we?”

“Do you want us to?”

Harry leans back a little. “Do you _not_ want us to?”

Draco blushes. “I didn’t say that!”

It’s not a good time for Harry to think he’s adorable. They're being serious. No, don’t kiss him, Harry, wait with that. “Sounded like it,” he says.

“I just-” Draco cuts himself off.

Harry rolls onto his side towards him. “I want this,” he says, stroking his cheek. “You. Us. I think I’ve made that clear. Ball’s in your court.”

Draco looks up through eyelashes. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

He swallows before he responds, “I’ll think about it.”

That’s good. It’s enough, at least for now. Harry nods and presses in to kiss him. “Okay.”

~~

“Hi, Harry!” She comes forward and Draco squeezes Harry’s hand, hiding behind him. “How are you? Been a while! Who’s your”—she looks behind him at Draco, and pointedly at their joined hands—” _friend_?” she finishes with a smile.

“Alana, meet Draco. Draco, this is Alana, she’s the spokesman- spokeswoman?”

“Spokesperson?”

“She’s the spokesperson for the group. Say hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hellu, Draco, welcome! Has Harry told you anything about us?”

“Yes.”

She laughs a little. “Okay, I’ll give you the short introduction then, and you just ask me or anyone else if you have any questions, ‘kay?” Draco nods. “Alright! So, we’re a GSA-”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, sorry, I-” She gives Harry a look and Harry smiles back, trying to convey that this is a very new gay puppy. “GSA stands for Gay-Straight Alliance, which means we welcome anyone of any sexuality or gender, but most of our members fall under the LGBTQ-spectrum. Most that don’t come with partners that do.” Draco looks like she’s talking rubbish, but she trudges on. “We have bi”—she finger-guns and winks at Harry—”weekly meetings and you have to become a member for a tenner to come more than the odd time.” She leans in like she’s telling them a secret. “It’s just so we can buy snacks. Do you want a lemon curd biscuit?” Out of nowhere, she presents a large, round tin and opens the lid.

Draco, surprisingly, accepts the pastry. “What do you do at meetings?”

“Usually nothing extravagant. Generally, just sit around and talk. Some of us come from very homophobic households so this is a safe place to just be ourselves and, you know, talk about gay shit without anyone judging.”

“That’s nice,” Draco presses out.

“Yes, it is! Do you want to meet some people?” Draco looks terrified. Alana sees the look and hurries to say, “Or, you know, in your own time. Harry will introduce you if you want, he knows most of everyone here. Happy to have you, and if you want to become a member, talk to Beth over there with the purple hair. Alright? Nice to see you, Harry.”

“You too, Alana, see you around.” Harry turns to Draco as Alana walks away. Draco holds his hand so convulsively that Harry thinks his fingers might fall off. “How you feeling?”

Draco looks after Alana. “She’s very happy.”

“Yes, she is. It’s nice, innit?”

Draco draws a breath and lets go of Harry, crossing his arms. “I won’t fit in.”

Harry puts a hand, the one not squeezed to death, on Draco’s arm. “You’re more like these people than you know. Give it a try. Be open-minded.”

Draco drags his mouth into an almost-sneer. “I’m not gonna smile unless I’m amused.”

Harry laughs. “Nobody’s asking you to.”

“Right.”

“Let’s just hang out? Think of it as a common room, yeah? You don’t have to talk to anyone but you’re welcome to.”

He stomps his feet a little and looks highly uncomfortable, but finally, he agrees. “Okay.”

“And Draco.”

“What, Potter?”

“This is a tolerant place. If you don’t understand, you ask, or you nod; you do not get defensive.”

“Ask or nod.”

“Thank you.”

Draco puts his nose up. “I want more lemon curd biscuits.”

“Let’s get you some.”

~~

“So. Draco. What’s your story?”

Draco sits in the corner of a couch, and there’s just six of them left, including him and Harry. Harry sits on a table opposite him, just to show that he’s not gonna die around these people. Harry does, however, look over to him as the rest of the conversations dies down because everyone wants to hear his answer. Draco only flicks his gaze up to Harry, before looking back a Gary, who’d posted the question in the first place.

“Well,” he says and twists his hands a little. “My parents are very traditional-”

There’s an understanding “ahh” through the crowd.

“You need to get married,” Gary says.

Helena butts in, “When was the last time you had a date?”

“We’ve set you up with this sweet girl,” Morsone mockingly adds.

“When are you ever going to give us grandkids?” Alana says.

Draco stares around at them. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Been there.”

“Done that.”

Gary nods. “How are you tackling it?”

Draco blushes slightly. “I- Well, frankly, I’m not. I just… sort of moved out.”

Morsone whoops. “We have a Dodger in the house!” Draco gives them a famous sneer but realises that he’s not being mocked when a couple of the others says, “Welcome to the club.” His features soften and Harry’s almost proud.

“It’s all for the best if you don’t see them changing their minds,” Helena says softly. “When did you move out? You look to be Harry’s age? Right?”

“Just after new year’s. And yes. Harry and I went to school together. But he was kind of a tosser back then, really.” He smirks at Harry, who pokes his tongue out at him.

“Was he now? Tell us more, we never get the scoop on Harry.”

“He was into sports-”

“I TOLD YOU HARRY WAS A JOCK, I TOLD YOU!” Alana yells, pointing at Gary.

“I’m not a jock!” Harry tries to defend himself, but Draco tells them that Harry was the team captain and that doesn't help.

Alana fist pumps the air, then points repeatedly at Harry instead. “I KNEW IT!”

“...and the youngest recruit in memory.”

Morsone shakes their head, grinning. “Harry never told us! What sports?”

“Football,” Harry chimes in.

“OH MY GOD, HARRY!”

Draco seems to like everyone butting in to talk about Harry and him because he keeps indulging them. “I was on the opposing team, of course.”

“And you fell in looove?” Helena asks.

Draco flashes bright pink. “No, we were in a feud for most of seven years. I was a prat and he didn’t want to be my friend, so I set out to destroy his life. Didn’t go as planned most of the time and everyone else seemed to like the famous Potter, anyway.”

Everyone looks at Harry and asks, in different levels of surprised and confused, “Famous?”

Both Harry and Draco ignore the question. “Everyone seemed to think he was so special,” Draco says, holding Harry’s gaze. “Took me some time to realise they were right.” It’s quiet for a beat and they just look at each other. Harry’s hands feel heavy and his cheeks burn. Then there’s a collective _“_ aaaawwwww” from the others and their spell is broken. Draco clears his throat. “I have yet to deal with my parents more so than writing them a letter explaining that I am taking my time ‘finding myself’ and… well, here I am. Obviously very gay.”

Everyone laughs but Harry. Now there’s no doubt, he _is_ proud. Of just how far Draco has come, and how comfortable he seems to be with the progress. He wants to jump down and kiss the crap out of him, but he remains seated and only smiles at Draco whenever he looks up.

The conversation simmers around, moves to another topic and Draco keeps engaging. It’s amazing to see, Harry has barely ever seen him communicate with people, and now it’s with muggles, about stuff such as sexuality. It’s almost a bit surreal. Thankfully, he’s still a bit of a sarcastic ass, but it’s more good-natured. He manages not to offend anyone; kudos to him.

“Wait,” Draco says, “so you mean you’re not a girl?” Morsone shakes their head. “And not a boy?” Morsone shakes their head again and Draco frowns. “So, what else is there?”

Morsone smiles. “It’s called non-binary.”

“So, like something in between? Or not at all? Or both?”

Morsone nods. “Sorta not at all? At least with me! But it’s different with everyone I’ve met.”

“Oh, so there’s more?”

The whole room chuckles. “Yeah, Draco, there’s more.” Draco’s cheek heats and Harry speaks.

“I thought they were shitting me the first time.”

“Yeah, Harry was _so_ confused.”

Draco looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, took me ages to understand at all.”

“So, I’m a faster learner than you, no surprise there.”

Harry gapes. “You are not! My learning curve is completely adequate, thank you very much.”

“Uh-huh,” Draco says and crosses his arms, “that’s why I had higher scores than you, in every subject ever?”

Morsone “uuuuhhh”s and Harry rolls his eyes and holds his hands up to everybody. “I’m not slow-”

“But you have to admit, this non-binary thing, isn't _that hard_ to grasp. You’re just a _little_ slow.”

Alana whoops. “Listen to your boyfriend, Harry!”

Harry loses his balance for a second. “We’re not-”

“Yeah,” Draco says, cutting him off and giving Harry a challenging look, “listen to your _boyfriend_.”

Harry doesn’t know how serious he is, but if Draco can play dirty… Well. So can Harry. _"_ Listen, _sweet cheeks,”_ Harry starts with a wicked grin. “Honeybun. My dearest, darling love”—Draco stares at him like he’s humiliating both of them in the same breath—”I’d absolutely _love_ to listen to you, but you’re talking rubbish, so I’m not gonna.”

Helena sighs, smiling. “You guys are disgustingly sweet.”

“Heavy on the ‘disgusting’,” Draco says, and everyone laughs. Draco looks around again, probably to check that they’re not laughing _at him_ and then he pulls at his mouth, a tiny smile that melts his whole face into an expression Harry wants to cradle and save.

When they leave (after Harry had to quickly explain that Draco doesn’t have a phone because it “broke” and therefore he doesn’t have a number at the moment, but Harry will make sure to bring him along next time anyway, so they can meet him again) Harry bumps Draco’s shoulder and says, “So. Boyfriends, huh?”

Draco puts his nose in the air and only tells him to shut up.

~~

“It’s nice that Dad’s happy now.” Teddy says it out of the blue one day when he and Harry are playing with blocks in the living room, Draco reading upstairs.

“What do you mean, Ted?”

Teddy looks at Harry, eyebrows high. “Yeah, because he wasn’t happy when he moved in. He’s happy now, smiling a lot. It’s nice.” He puts a block down on his tower, which leans a scary amount.

Harry looks up at him from where he lies on the floor. “He smiled a lot when he moved in too, didn’t he?”

Teddy nods. “But that wasn’t the same,” he says and frowns. “He smiled and was sad, I think. Or angry. Now he’s smiling _because_ he’s happy. And that other stuff is not so big.” He extends his hands as if to indicates how big they had been.

Harry smiles. “Being your father would make anyone happy.”

“And since you started smiling at him, he’s more happy, too.” Teddy nods like it’s very true when Harry looks at him a little baffled.

Harry laughs. “You see a lot of things, don’t you?”

“I saw you kiss him yesterday,” Teddy says with a shrug.

“I will probably do that some more,” Harry responds and watches his reaction. Teddy only nods slightly and puts more blocks on his tower.

“Are you married now?” he asks.

“No, we’re not married. We might _get_ married one day.”

He sits down, looking like he’s reflecting on what colour to put next, rather than if his tower is gonna fall if he puts more on top. “How do you get married?” He looks over at Harry.

“There’s a ceremony called a ‘wedding’. Do you remember we went to Hermione and Ron’s wedding last year? It’s a kind of party and the couple promise to love each other forever in front of family and friends.”

He puts a purple block and it’s a miracle the whole thing still doesn’t collapse. “Can I come to yours?” he asks.

“Of course,” Harry smiles. “You’ll be the guest of honour.”

“Cool.”

Harry snorts.

~~

Draco comes into the kitchen later that night, hair down and only clad in tight, black underwear and an open silk robe. Harry tries hard not to stare, but the smug smile Draco hides behind the cup of tea Harry gives him, tells Harry that the whole point of the attire is to keep Harry’s attention.

“Special someone says he’s the guest of honour to our wedding,” Draco says casually and leans against the door frame. “Didn’t know we were planning one.”

Harry throws him a glance over his shoulder and laughs softly while shaking his head. “He asked if we were married because he saw me kiss you.” He puts the kettle down and takes up his own cup before turning towards Draco again.

Draco arches a brow. “And you told him we were _going_ to get married?”

He steps forward, close enough to lay a peck on his lips. “I said ‘ _might_ ’.”

Draco gives him a look. “Mhm.”

Harry reaches up and tucks some hair behind his ear and Draco watches his face while he does. It’s a small gesture, but here, like this, it feels intimate and precious. Harry wouldn’t hate being married one day. Maybe even would like it. He frowns a little. “Do you want to get married?” he asks and meets Draco’s gaze.

And Draco, grinning, says, “Oh, I don’t know, Harry, it _is_ quite sudden.”


End file.
